The Maze II: The Anthill
by Third World
Summary: Through Death's realms. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

**Before You Enter The Maze… **

**Disclaimer** – _Gensomaden Saiyuki _belongs solely to Minekura Kazuya and whoever else may share its legal rights. This story was written without permission; my only purpose is to pay tribute and entertain other fans. No profit has been made, or will ever be made, with it.

The poem _The Silent Scream_ belongs solely to Nightdweller.

**Warning **– For homosexual themes, foul language, sexual harassment, racial bigotry (human vs. youkai), violence, torture, and rape. If any of the above offends or disturbs you, be mature and hit your back button instead of hitting me. My concern with your sensibility ends where my freedom of speech begins.

**Author's Note** – The hero's mythic journey has a somber version: the _nekyia—_from the Greek _vekuia _(_vekus__,_ corpse), after the eleventh chant of Homer's _Odyssey_. It describes a descent into darkness, a plunge into the unconscious, a peregrination through Death's realm. _The Anthill _is the second installment of a trilogy that follows this premise and if you have not read _The Maze_, what comes next will make very little sense to you.

My deepest, sincerest thanks to my betas Willow and Procyon, and a special bow to dear Softwelshrain, who helped me with this final version.

**The Maze II: The Anthill **

_Evermore impounded inside the belly of the beast, _

_I am diseased, _

_I am plagued, _

_I am wrought with the madness _

_Which consumes me piece by piece._

_The Silent Scream_, by Nightdweller

**Chapter 1 **

The full moon lit the path for the group that escorted a decrepit vehicle to the top of the hill. Locked in darkness, folded legs on a higher level than his chest, Gojyo was aware only of a continuous climbing motion. The awkward angle kept pushing his weight onto his tied hands, and he tried to ease the pressure on his bad arm by sitting on his right hip. At least such a predicament made it impossible for him to give in to the wicked temptation to lean forward and feel with the tip of his nose how terrifyingly tight his space was. Also, it helped to take his mind off the stench that permeated the wooden trunk.

Had someone bled to death in here? It seemed so—it _smelled _so.

To keep panic at bay, he forced himself to think of his teammates. Sanzo was looking for him. Sanzo was coming for him. That guy Zhou Jun had dispelled all his malformed doubts when mentioning the word 'monk'—because there were many monks in this world, but only one who had anything to do with a certain Sha Gojyo. Gojyo tilted his head back, pleased with the connection. Estranged as they were at the moment, it still felt very good to fit his and Sanzo's names together in the same sentence: Gojyo & Sanzo, Sanzo & Gojyo. And Hakkai, since an existence without Hakkai was unconceivable. And Goku, since wherever Sanzo went that _baka _would follow. Sanzo & Gojyo & Hakkai & Goku. They made a good team, each adding to the others' strengths, each balancing the others' weaknesses. For the first time in his life, Gojyo was part of a whole. For the first time, he _belonged_.

So, so stupid to risk all that!

_Tomorrow I'll apologize to Sanzo_, he promised himself._ I'll tell him I won't 'play games' anymore. And he'll give me another chance. Please, gods, make him give me another chance. I don't want any more fights, I don't want more hatred; just being with him will be enough. Hakkai will help me with this, I know he will. _

Hakkai.

Gojyo's stomach churned. He could still hear the muffled sounds of Hakkai's suffering, the soldiers' laughter, and the uncanny blend of both, echoing endlessly in the empty corridors. Hakkai had been almost unconscious the last time Gojyo had seen him.

_Sanzo, you corrupt monk, you had better help Hakkai first. Otherwise, I'm going to throttle you, I'm— _

He was thrown violently against his bad shoulder, and for a while any coherent thought disappeared. There was pain and pain alone, bursting white spots behind his clenched eyelids. Not bothering to tone down his moans, he slumped back to his previous position, tasting bile.

_Don't you dare! Don't you dare puke here in this hearse! _

Shit, but the stench! As had happened to the wooden boards of the coffin-like trunk in which he had been locked—wood that once had vital sap running through it—the noxious stench now seemed to pervade his body, replacing blood with rottenness…

_Where was I again? Hakkai. Now, Gojyo pal, Hakkai will be fine. No one, human or demon, is as tough and as smart as he is. Besides— _

An agonizing spasm in his left arm was followed by a cramp in his belly, and he brought his legs closer, grinding his teeth.

_Besides, besides… Oh gods, besides what? Fuck, I can't puke in here! Ah, yes, besides I felt Hakkai earlier. It was so strange, so crazy, but he was there, with me… _

It had not lasted more than a few seconds. Bully-san and his men had dragged him through a subterraneous passage to the stables and Gojyo, knowing he was being separated from Hakkai, had tried to fight. The humans had just whipped his legs until he could not stand any longer. Curled on the dirty floor, he had been vaguely aware of a scraping sound, like old, worn wheels needing oiling and alignment. And then Hakkai had been there with him, caressing his hair, calming his fears… He had raised his head to look at his friend—only to find the darkness of this trunk, already wide open in front of him like Death's jaws. Much to his shame, he had recoiled with a choked scream. The soldiers had laughed, and Hakkai… Hakkai was no longer at his side.

It hadn't been just a dream. It hadn't!

Suddenly, the struggle uphill gave way to an almost smooth ride. The horses' clopping indicated that they were now on a paved surface. Gojyo tensed and tried to unfold his sore legs, his only available weapons now. It appeared that this particular journey was coming to an end.

When the cart finally halted, he could hear voices. Arguing, this time. And it was good to know that not everything was humorous about those bastards' dirty job.

"…can't accept prisoners without a superior officer's signature on the proper transfer papers," someone was saying. "You know this better than anyone, Chen Dan-san!"

Chen Dan.

Yes, that was Bully-san's real name.

"I don't remember being asked for papers for the youkai family I brought you two days ago," came the loud, angry answer.

"That case was different, Sergeant!" Whoever this fellow was, he sounded equally incensed. "If you took this youkai to Captain Wu Tai first, it must be because there's a human involved, right? So, the creature is your captain's responsibility until he signs it over to us—"

"I know that the regs are changing again, Private. And about time! So shove your lectures and get out of my way! I'm going to see the Colonel."

Despite everything, Gojyo chuckled. Bully-san was a very charming person, indeed.

"Changing? Who told you—Chen Dan-san, wait!" The voice grew distant, fainter. "You're making a mistake!"

"Which, I hope, will screw you up for good, fucker," Gojyo mumbled. "Sanzo is coming and I want to see you bullshit _him_."

As minutes ticked by, though, expectancy gave way to total, complete exhaustion.

And there was no Sanzo.

He lost all sense of time in the confining blackness, becoming just a hurt, worn-out body struggling to breathe.

And there was no Sanzo.

He sagged against the fetid boards of the trunk, too tired to keep his head up. Again and again he was awakened from his torpor by an excruciating spasm darting through his injured arm; and then he would mutter a protest that was a moan, a sob, and a muted scream. It was the only answer his fogged mind could give to the misery that defined his entire world now.

At one point, he gave up on his battle, leaned forward, and vomited. There was not much in his stomach, mainly the remains of the impromptu afternoon picnic under the dying trees. Sliding back into place, he huddled as far away as possible from the mess. So hot in here, so unbearably hot… He was going to suffocate… And his bladder…

Oh gods, oh Merciful Gods Above, he really, seriously had to piss!

There was a rusty noise to his left, and then a blast of fresh air hit him.

"Buddha!" The soldier who had opened the hatch to his trunk stepped back quickly. "Why do these creatures stink so much? Are they rotten inside or what?"

Laughter. More cruel jokes about youkai nature and general youkai filthiness. Gojyo did not pay them attention; all that mattered was that blessedly fresh air, so he crawled to the opening and poked his head through it, gasping and shivering.

A soft breeze started stroking his hair.

"Hakkai…" _Please, be well! _

The sudden, loud explosions caused him to jump and clumsily sit with his legs dangling from the cart. They were on the very top of the hill, in the inner courtyard of what seemed to be a fortress—he remembered spotting this structure upon the Sanzo-ikkou's arrival—and the view from such a height was breathtaking. Countless fireworks burst, fountains of color sending to the heavens wave upon wave of joyful dancing lights, and it was like being in the eye of a powerful divine manifestation. Even the soldiers were appreciating the spectacle, cheering and clapping each other's backs, prisoner and nervous horses forgotten.

"Hey, Mou-san, it's already midnight! Where's the sergeant? He's missing quite a show—"

Everything else was drowned out by another surge of lights, brighter and more deafening than the first. The whole hill seemed to be striving to break free from the earth and rise towards the sky in a lurid, jubilant guffaw.

Gojyo knew he would not have a better chance to escape. Measuring the distance that separated him from the fortress's outer open gates, he readied himself to hit the even cobblestones of the courtyard and run for his life.

A shadow grew ominously in his direction, the drawn gun just an elongated, distorted extension of its bearer's hand. Gojyo took in the grotesque figure projected on the ground, lifted his eyes to Bully-san's, and his mind went blank—his failing body unable to respond to his brain's half-formed order to fight-or-flee.

"Mou! Hu!" Bully-san spat. "Stop fooling around and take this thing inside. Now!"

Gojyo was seized by his ankles and wrenched out of the cart. Without any means of protecting his injury, he landed directly on his tied hands. There was not enough air in his lungs to free his howl, so he choked, tears of pain running down his face. In an attempt to regain control over his full bladder, he tried to cross his legs and bring them closer to his stomach, though harsh hands were already in his hair, pulling him up. He knew he should cooperate, that more would be in store if he did not, but his knees would not lock to support his weight. An angry order was barked, and the two soldiers were on him again, grabbing his forearms. He screamed then, feeling the tight grip closing on the very core of his suffering. Like a semi-drowned man, he was half-marched half-carried to the entrance of the fortress and shoved towards a waiting group.

He could not understand what they were saying. He could not fight. He could not even conjure a swearword to throw at them.

Pain.

It was all he was now.

But Bully-san was leaving, and his last connection with Hakkai would be severed. Anxiously, Gojyo turned his head back to follow the human's departure, watching as he was framed by the eerie, painted night sky. "Wait!" he managed to croak. "I have a message for Genjo San—"

With a loud noise, the massive door was closed, and all color and light of the universe were gone, sealing in the last syllable of Sanzo's name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

It was huge.

And dark.

Neither the lanterns on the walls nor the moonbeams that filtered through the fissures in the damaged stone ceiling were enough to dispel the shadows.

It reeked.

But not in a literal way.

Very bad things had happened in here—Gojyo could _feel_ it in the miasma of death that cloaked the building like a shroud. Such a perception only grew with each step that the soldiers made him take.

"This place needs help, you know," he finally rasped, hating the silence. "Maybe a decade or two of exorcisms and prayers."

No answer. Unlike Bully-san and his minions, these men did not exchange cruel retorts and jokes among themselves. They manhandled him with effective and economical movements, impassive faces indicating a higher level of discipline.

"I travel with a high monk who could assist you," Gojyo continued to babble. "You may have heard of him … of us…" he trailed off despairingly. What was the point? The order to keep quiet would not come. He felt truly like a thing with these humans, his words nothing but animal noises. And there was no 'us' between him and Sanzo. Not anymore.

He stumbled, a part of his fogged brain threatening to shut down his body if the abuse persisted for longer. Shit, he needed to focus. As much as he needed water, needed to piss, and needed the pain in his arm—this terrible, crippling, maddening pain—to end, he _needed _to focus. So he could think. So he could plan.

They stopped at a double door and after a single knock he was carried into a large, fairly well lit hall. Braziers of wrought iron surrounded a desk in the center of an otherwise bare room. Sitting cross-legged on top of the desk, a man shuffled through scattered papers, his features half-hidden by longish dark hair. One look at him and Gojyo recoiled, shriveling at the thought the figure immediately roused in him: _Evil. _

The man lifted his head and smiled. Gojyo averted his eyes to a neutral point between them, embarrassed. _Good-looking evil_, he corrected himself, hating that he could still be able to notice something so inane even in the direst of the circumstances.

"So," the man drawled. "This is the monster that, according to Sergeant Chen Dan, will destroy the whole world if it gets the chance." His voice was cultured. Pleasant. And it dripped amusement. "What's your name, little demon?"

Gojyo clammed up. It was foolish, he knew; he was in no condition to offer real defiance at the moment, and his name was no secret to begin with. He had given it in that other prison—had even told it to the perv, Zhou Jun. But here, to this man… He did not want _him _saying his name aloud. It was that simple, that childish. That crucial.

He tipped his chin up and shot a mutinous glance at the desk. The man smiled again and began playing with a strip of blue fabric—Gojyo recognized it as his headband, confiscated in the park along with his lighter and cigarettes. A nod, then, and Gojyo's hands were untied. The rope had not yet hit the floor and two soldiers had Gojyo secured in a vise-like grip—the one at Gojyo's right lodging a muscular thigh between his legs, trapping him in place, while the man at his left twisted his bad arm. No surprise here: like well-experienced predators, they knew how to exploit their prey's weakness. Gojyo tried to ease the pressure by turning his body to a more favorable angle, but there was no leeway.

"Should I repeat the question, demon?" the man on the desk asked in the same calm, friendly tone. "Okay, one more chance. What's your name?"

Gojyo bit his lower lip to muffle his desperate moans. _Give him your name, for fuck's sake_, he reprimanded himself. _He probably knows it anyway. What does it matter? _"Go—" But it mattered. Oh gods, it did matter! "Go to hell!"

Unimpressed, the man leisurely stretched his long legs over the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles when his feet touched the stone floor. "But we are already in hell, little demon. And you've just lost that chance I gave you."

Another subtle sign from him, and Gojyo's shoulder was wrenched out of its socket. No amount of self-control would be sufficient to prevent the scream now. Gojyo's knees buckled, and the soldiers let him fall heavily onto the floor.

Pain.

Undiluted.

Absolute.

Pain.

"We can play this game for as long as you want, youkai," the man pointed out. "The stakes, though, will be raised each time you decide to be unreasonable. Do you see the knife in Lieutenant Luo's hand?" A thin, well-kept blade was waved near Gojyo's blurring eyes, catching the light entrancingly. "It will saw your arm off. And the process, like your intellect, will be very, very slow."

Gojyo had no time to digest what had been promised; a foot was placed on his back, sending his torso down and his legs were immobilized. His left arm was stretched out on the floor, a fresh tide of crude pain making his whole body spasm. Blind panic caused him to buck like a wild horse, and he did hit someone, but there was no premeditation in his desperate efforts, just mindless instinct. Soon enough, he lay still on the unyielding stone, his face forcefully turned to the left.

They would saw his arm off, and they would make him watch.

_No, please, gods, no, please, no no no no— _

The serrated knife was lowered onto his shoulder and, with deliberate laziness, peeled off his bandage. Gojyo started hyperventilating, a keening, gurgling sound escaping from his parched throat. It increased in volume and intensity until it burst into a roar as he felt the metal biting against his flesh, into his still healing wound.

He followed with wide eyes the sharp edge passing over his skin, each mean, eager small tooth peeling the outer layer into white, translucent little rolls until it reached the dried brown scab of his injury, pulling that section of it off. Then, it came back in a reversed movement, plunging a little deeper and drawing blood this time. A pause, and it went forward once more.

_—oh gods oh gods gods don't please—_

They would really saw through his nerves, muscles, and bone, as if his arm was a bough…

Another shift backwards and the knife plunged into the already ugly gash with a wet sound. Blood spurted, splattering his eyes, his mouth, his very soul.

_—no no no no NO NO NO— _

It was not true. It could not be true, this, this inconceivable horror…

Only marginally did he feel the warmth spreading on his thighs and belly, only marginally did he register what had happened.

_I pissed myself? _

Something shattered inside him and he began howling, calling out for…

"_Sanzo! Please! Sanzo, help!_"

He cried Sanzo's name until he realized that the knife had stilled, stuck inside his torn shoulder like a piece of cutlery poking from a loaf of bread. He stared at such an image in agonized, frozen bewilderment, unable to process it.

"All right, I'm going to give you a last chance, demon," the man's matter-of-fact voice broke through his haze. "The third time is a charm or so they say. And if I were you I would tread very, very carefully."

Gojyo squeezed his eyes shut, utterly defeated.

Vomit and urine soiled his clothes.

Blood, tears, and mucus dripped from his face.

And his arm…

_What else do they want from me? _

"What. Is. Your. Name?"

His last particle of self.

"Go—Goj…" The murmur was not loud enough to be heard and for a second his mind went blank with panic. He looked at the knife in his arm—felt it—and tasted bile along with his own salty fluids. _Name, he needed to say his name aloud and what was his name he didn't remember he couldn't remember what was his_—"Goj—Gojyo." He let his wheezing breath propel what he was trying to say.

"What did you say again?" There was unmistakable flippancy in his interrogator's voice now, as if everything had been only a joke.

"Gojyo."

"Pardon?"

The bastard. He had heard...

"Gojyo. It's… Gojyo."

"Can you repeat that again for us, little demon? Louder, if you please."

"_Gojyo!_" This time, the scream reverberated around the huge room. Gojyo blinked sweat from his eyes, the knife fading out then flaring up again to reality. _Oh gods, mercy! _

"Ah! Now, Gojyo… Why was that so difficult, hmm?"

Why, indeed?

And the man must have made another of his signals, for the knife was suddenly pulled out of his shoulder and he was released. He remained on the floor, though, too weak and too much in pain to fight. He was also cold… So very cold. And still bleeding. He should do something to staunch the bleeding. Such as … sleep. Yes, he needed to sleep. He was going to sleep, and when he woke up he would see that all of this had been a terrible nightmare. He would relate it to Hakkai and ask for an interpretation. Or not. Better just let it go. If he did not think about it, he would simply forget it.

Implacable hands hoisted him up to his knees and he moaned resentfully.

"Gojyo? Stay with us just a little longer." That hateful voice again. Closer. The man was in front of him now, _that man_, and Gojyo cringed, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

Fingers traced his face, unmindful of its filthiness.

"Evil." Gojyo was shivering so badly that he was not certain if he had said that aloud.

A short laugh. And a soft caress on his cracked lips.

"Open up, Gojyo."

He did, not wanting another futile battle. Water was poured into his mouth.

He tried to drink. Loud, dry sobs sent most of it back into the metal cup that _he_ held, and some ended up running down his chin, but the few gulps he could swallow were enough to sharpen his thirst. He tremulously raised his right hand to ensure that the flow was not interrupted, peering over the rim of the cup at the cruel human who now stroked his hair in a parody of comfort.

_Evil. _

"That's enough for today, isn't it, Gojyo?" The man asked warmly, as if they had shared a nice conversation instead of a session of torture.

"Yes … tired…" Gojyo's teeth chattered against the cup as a soft fabric—his own headband—replaced those skimming fingers on his sweaty face. _He_ was cleaning him…

The gentle touch and the cup were both withdrawn, and Gojyo, aghast, watched as the man went back to his desk and perched himself on it, still smiling at him.

The trance was broken when someone—the same soldier who had used the knife—took his bad arm again. Apparently, the fellow did not care about tainting his hands with youkai blood. Gojyo moaned, but did not fight; he just sent a pleading, desperate look to the Evil Man.

"But… I answered you," he mumbled, knowing how pathetic his reasoning sounded.

The man's smile grew larger. "Yes, little demon. You did. Remember _that_." And he nodded.

Gojyo screamed, convulsing, when, with a quick movement, his dislocated shoulder was pushed back into place.

The Evil Man's voice was fainter now, coming from a long distance. "Take it to the cell. Staunch its bleeding and let it rest."

"Yes, Colonel."

Hands hauled Gojyo's battered body up off the floor as the appealing void of darkness opened for him at last. He sank into it willingly, not wanting to resurface ever again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

Goku was led through crooked streets that became darker and quieter as he and his captor advanced. He still called for Hakuryu, from time to time, ignoring the anxious male who poked his spine with the gun every time he tried to speak or turn to look back.

Youkai. Definitely.

And Goku felt only mildly surprised to meet a demon in such circumstances—after all, they did have a habit of showing up to complicate his life further.

He almost lost his footing when he was shoved towards a high brick wall.

"In here," the man hissed, unlocking a gate half-hidden by lush greenery. "Quick."

Goku did not move, suddenly uncertain. So far he had accepted this game, his initial impulse to get rid of the fellow as soon as possible replaced by a half-formed plan to gather information. The youkai had an impressive knowledge of this town's armed force: whether circumventing dangerous areas or passing directly through the inevitable holes in its web of vigilance, they had not been spotted by the soldiers even once, which was not a minor accomplishment. His anxiety and guilt were reaching a new peak, though. He was not sure if Hakuryu had done the right thing and followed him to this deserted neighborhood.

Sanzo had trusted him to keep the dragon safe.

And Sanzo had given him orders to hide and fetch aid if things went wrong.

Yet, here he was, playing hostage while trying to figure out military tactics. And no Hakuryu to be seen.

"Inside," the youkai spat. "Or I'll shoot you."

Goku spared him a glance. Physically, the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy appeared to be only a little older than himself—a detail that, in youkai terms, did not necessarily reveal one's real power or age. Not that this pitiful demon would be a true opponent, gun or no gun—on a very elemental level Goku _knew_ himself infinitely older, faster, and stronger. But the youkai would be a priceless resource in case Sanzo needed help. Should they really count on that slimy old abbot if the worst happened?

Except for Sanzo, humans were not trustworthy.

"I _will_ kill you if you don't move your ass, fucker!" the youkai hissed, holding the gun with both hands.

So Goku preferred to deal with demons. They were much more straightforward.

Decision made, he shouldered the wooden gate wide open, telling himself over and over that Hakuryu, a fighter and a survivor like any of his other teammates, would be fine.

His elbow was gripped while they crossed the yard, and the weapon was lodged on his nape when they entered the house. The cat that slept under a big image of a Smiling Buddha opened its yellow eyes and considered the newcomers for a moment before going back to his feline dreams.

"Put your bags down," the youkai ordered.

"But what—"

"Do it."

"Fuck!" Goku angrily dropped his luggage to the floor. "There! All right?" His imitation of Sanzo's Deep Scowl and Sanzo's Cold Tone were perfect. A pity that his stomach ruined the dramatic scene by rumbling loudly—the thing was definitely in the mood for some stuff again. "What do you want with me?"

There was no answer. Goku was frisked, then pushed into a poorly lit corridor. At the end of it, a door cracked open and a woman peeked at them with bright red eyes.

"You sure the soldiers didn't see you?" she asked Goku's companion.

"Of course I am! Do you think I would have brought him here otherwise?"

The woman twisted her mouth. "No need to get your hackles up, darling. I'm only doing my job. Which is to be cautious, eh?"

"You do your job and I do mine," the boy growled. "Which is to risk my life on these damned streets every day."

Goku huffed, annoyed. "If you wanted me here to watch your bickering," he said, repeating one of Sanzo's scolds word by word and mimicking his trademark tone, "I must say that I was better where I was." The woman looked at him, her expression surprised. "The puppets in the plaza were nicer," he continued much less confidently, now he had to think for himself of what to say. "At least the song was catchy."

The boy did not find the comment funny. "How can you make jokes out of our situation, you son of a bitch? Do you know how many of us were tortured and killed by—"

"Now, now," the woman interrupted, holding her hands up in a conciliatory manner. "Dai-chan, you're too serious. Too cranky. Sometimes it's healthy to have a good laugh right in misery's face, _ne_?"

"No. And don't call me that."

She disregarded the brusque reply with a sigh and turned her attention to Goku. "I'm sorry about the way you've been brought here, Goku-sama, but we had to think really fast."

"Who are you?" Goku demanded impatiently.

"I'm Yanan," the woman answered. "And my bad-tempered friend here is Daiki."

"Yes, but _who_—"

"All in due time." Yanan let go of the door and stepped aside with a slight bow. "Please, come in, Goku-sama. Some people want to talk to you." And as Goku still hesitated, she added in a whisper, "Don't worry. We aren't youkai killers."

Sending caution to hell, Goku quickly passed by her, Daiki on his heels. The room was spacious and cozy, with several lanterns shining on the expensive lacquered furniture. It opened to a luxuriant inner garden through a veranda where three shadows hunched over a low square table. All male. All youkai.

"Ah, welcome, welcome." A brittle voice and a beckoning hand rose from the group. "Come and sit with us, Son Goku!"

He approached them slowly. The night breeze carried a delicious mixed scent of cinnamon and well-spiced food. In the distance, fireworks still sporadically exploded, though the apex of the commemorations had passed.

"Please, please take a seat, Goku-sama," the same voice invited. "There are pillows in the chest behind you, make yourself comfortable. Yanan will bring us tea. As for _you_," and the youkai tilted his head up to Daiki, "don't tower over us with that cursed human weapon in your hands. Out of my sight, now!"

"Sorry, Ojii-sama," Daiki stuttered, and went to crouch in a corner.

"No need for pillows," Goku murmured as he settled directly onto the polished wooden floor of the veranda, studying his interlocutor. _Ojii_. 'Grandfather.' How appropriate for this venerable patriarch; the youkai did not have any teeth or hair left, and his grayish face was a wrinkled map of valleys and craters from which peered two glassy red eyes. There was still a hint of great power emanating from him—unsubstantial, ghostly, like the clinging perfume of a long-dead flower kept between the pages of a book.

"How do you know my name?" Goku asked, without really caring about the answer. He was worried about Sanzo … and Hakkai and Gojyo … and Hakuryu, whom he had abandoned among those fanatics.

"Now, how do we come to know your honorable name?" The ancient gathered the beautiful mahjong cards spread on the table, making a neat pile. Sanzo hated to play mahjong with cards, so Goku hated it, too. But they were very good to read one's fortune. "You're being modest, Goku-sama! You're known in all Togenkyo!"

Goku frowned at the exaggeration. "Yeah, but how did you know that I am the Son Goku you heard of?" The ancient's eyes glittered and Goku could tell that there was a long story behind his amusement. He shook his head. "No, forget it, it doesn't matter. Why did you bring me here?"

There was an expectant pause. The two other occupants of the table stared at Goku as the ancient shifted on his pillow until he was turned away from the table and facing Goku directly. He bowed then, his forehead touching the floor.

"Son Goku-sama," the ancient said shakily, "you have been in our town long enough to know first hand what it has become." He raised his red eyes to Goku. "You came here to help us."

Goku mouthed a shocked "What?"

Slowly, the ancient straightened. "You are here to help us. Otherwise… Why would you be here, on this specific day no less?" It was not a real question, but a statement of something he believed true, something he asserted for his listeners' benefit. "You are here to help us."

"I don't know what you're—but where did this come from?" Goku took a deep breath. In the garden, a playing kitten stopped to consider the scene, then lunged towards its siblings. "I'm going to the west on a very important mission. You said you've heard about me, so you know this already."

Apparently, his denial was the cue for the other two youkai to butt in and express their point of view.

"I've heard about you, all right," the thin, effeminate creature whose long hair was carefully done up in a stylish coiffure snapped. "I know that you're part of a nomadic little band that is led by a human monk. One who travels with youkai … to kill other youkai." He turned his attention back to the ancient. "Ojii-sama, if he isn't here to help us … why is he here? To hunt us down, _ne_? Perhaps these renegades came here to join forces with the humans."

"What? We don't hunt youkai!" Goku counterattacked, incensed. "They—"

"_They?_" The youkai reached out for an ashtray with two fingers, long polished nails shining, and put out his cigarette with girlish daintiness. "Aren't you a youkai, too?"

"I—not exactly. I think."

"Not exactly?" Long Nails echoed in a low, taunting tone. "I see. But you know what you definitely are? A betrayer. A youkai killer. You and your friends."

"It's not like that!" Goku retorted. "Youkai are being used by—"

"And there's the third person again! Don't you ever include yourself in this categorization?"

Goku ignored him this time. "Some freaks are trying to bring back a demon king," he explained hotly. "Their dark energy is causing youkai to become mindless beasts and attack humans—"

"Our kind finally understood that while humans live we won't have peace, space, or respect." The booming voice came from the large youkai with a goatee, the one who sat opposite the ancient. "This war against the human scourge was the wisest thing to do! And you sided with our oppressors. You're helping them to squash your brothers' and sisters' efforts!"

Goku snorted. "I don't have any brothers or sisters. But if you're talking about the youkai out there… Well, get worried if you consider them as such. They are no different from the puppets I saw here. This war is not their choice."

"Yet, you don't have any qualms about killing those unfortunate pawns, do you?" Long Nails chimed in again, smirking mellifluously.

"Should I let them kill _me_?" Goku asked him, his fists balled on his lap.

Long Nails pretended to be surprised. "Ah! Then _they_, the low plebs, don't have a choice, but _you_, special being that you are, also have none? How convenient!"

Goku stared at the venomous youkai, hating being on the defensive, knowing that the facts were much, much more complicated than this simplistic Us-Versus-Them version. But, as always, his mind would not provide him with the right words to put forward a solid argument. Hakkai was the one good with rhetoric. Son Goku…

"What about a conscience? Do you have one?" demanded Goatee.

…was not.

He stood with amazing speed, hitting the table on his way up. "Are you all crazy in this town?" he cried. "I don't have time for this shit! Did you bring me here to judge me? Is this a court of law?"

The ancient waved his deformed hands in the air placatingly. "Zuoji-sama, Jiro-san, he's our guest here! Let's honor him as such! Goku-sama, please, sit down! That's why humans say youkai can't sit together for five minutes without fighting, _ne_? Do you want to prove them right?"

Goku stared down at the old one, for a moment rendered speechless by such absurd reasoning. "Humans can think of me whatever they want," he said with contempt. "I don't care."

"Yes, yes, I don't care about humans, either." And the ancient smiled at Goku's confused expression. "But, you see, we know that you came to our town to—"

"You know nothing!" Goku yelled, suddenly furious at having this stranger distorting his words to use them for his own purposes. "We were passing by and saw your lights from the road, that's all! Deal with your own problems because I have my own! Got it, Gramps?"

In his corner, Daiki sprang to his feet. The heavier Goatee tried to do the same. Long Nails just glared up at him from his niche of pillows, shock and indignation on his painted face.

Goku snarled at them, ready to attack. Fuck, how could he have been so stupid to the point of believing that youkai would side with him? The Sanzo-ikkou had only … the Sanzo-ikkou. And now, his disobedience had cost them Hakuryu.

"We—we just saw your lights from the main road," he mumbled to no one in particular, retreating a few steps. "We thought it would be a good idea to get rooms instead of camping. Why is that so strange? Is it a crime? In this place I suppose it is, because two of my teammates were arrested. Now, instead of offering me help, you expect _me_ to help _you_? You're all nuts."

The ancient shook his head, disregarding his words. "Sit, boy, we have an important matter to discuss."

"No. I'm going now. Bye." And quickly he retraced his way across the room without answering the ancient's pleads for him to stay.

Daiki caught up with him in the darkened corridor. "What do you think you're doing? Ojii-sama isn't through with you!"

"Too bad," Goku drawled as he went to his bags, "because _I _am through with that relic."

Daiki cursed and seized Goku's right arm. Taking advantage of the momentum, Goku whirled around and threw a punch into the boy's jaw, sending him crashing against the Smiling Buddha. The scene made him laugh aloud—certainly that venerable image had never been so literally a friendly support for the idiots of this world.

Bleeding from his nose, Daiki fumbled inside his jacket.

"Are you looking for this … Dai-chan?" taunted Goku, balancing the gun on his index finger.

Yanan entered the room, holding a plate with several sweets on it—indubitably the accompaniment to the tea she was going to serve.

"Goku-sama, stop!" she cried. "Please, don't kill him! Please!"

She was terrified, and Goku hated to frighten women. He sent a last growled warning at Daiki and approached her.

"I'm not a youkai killer, either, Yanan-san." And he put the weapon on her tray. "Tell _that _to your friends."

Not sparing a second glance at the mute pair, he quickly collected his bags and left the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

"Goku-sama? Wait, please! Wait! I can't walk as fast as you!"

Goku gritted his teeth and looked back. Yanan had followed him to the yard and now trudged in his direction.

"I won't waste more time," he warned her without slowing his strides. "My little dragon is alone outside. I lost him when that idiot—"

"Please, Goku-sama, give us another chance to explain," she panted, trying to quicken her uneven steps. "We aren't your enemies! I'm sorry that we did everything wrong from the beginning!"

He stopped at the gate, more than ready to break the whole thing down if he did not find the latch. A thud made him glance over his shoulder, then whirl around, completely taken aback by the bizarre scene. Yanan lay sprawled on the lawn and behind her, outlined eerily by the moonlight, was what seemed to be an amputated foot.

Goku went to the woman, who, with self-conscious haste, collected and hid her prosthesis under her long skirt. "What was that?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, the, uh, the strap—I think one strap got loose…" she trailed off, embarrassed.

Goku just looked down at her, even when Sanzo's remembered order of Don't Stare, issued several times and reinforced with his nasty fan, brokethrough his stultified haze. It was too late to pretend indifference, anyway, so he crouched in front of her. "Does that hurt?"

Yanan scowled at him, then sighed. "Sometimes. I'm used to it." She began to reattach her fake limb to her body, much to his fascination. "You know, Goku-sama, we could make a deal."

"Deal?" Goku repeated, craning his head to have a better look at what she was doing. "It looks like that does hurt!"

"I've lived with this almost my whole life, so…" Yanan shrugged. "You know, you could come back to the house with me and listen to what Ojii-sama has to tell you. In exchange, Daiki will be your guide through our streets for as long as you need him. You'll need one, Goku-sama."

Goku straightened up, clutching his bags possessively against his chest. Yes, he would need a guide—had complied with this charade for just such an opportunity. Still… "Can you cut deals in Daiki's name like that?" he demanded abruptly.

"Oh, don't worry about that." She stood, unassisted, and smiled at him—an artful, superior smile that Goku had only seen sketched on women's faces, be they human or youkai.

"How can you be so sure? I mean… I just hit him a good one." He bit his lower lip at the woman's continued amusement. _Don't try to understand the ladies and their mysteries, saru, _Gojyo had mockingly preached to him once. _Just accept them the way they are. _"Okay, five minutes," he blurted. "Then 'Dai-chan' will help me out."

"Fair enough." She bowed graciously and proceeded to escort him back to the house. At this slower pace, her hobbling was almost imperceptible. "Ojii-sama is very angry at the others, Goku-sama," she offered after a short while. "I heard him yelling. We took a huge risk by coming here. We took a huge risk by bringing you here. And then they treat you badly."

"Risk? Isn't this house yours?"

"Oh, no, no! We're, uh, borrowing it for tonight. This is not a youkai area."

"So how come—"

"We have our ways, Goku-sama. We go wherever we want … as long as we are very cautious. Caution is second nature for us." She indicated her missing foot with her chin. "I haven't committed any more mistakes since I was five."

"What happened?" Goku prompted, genuinely interested.

"A patrol caught me outside our demarked area," she murmured, grimacing at the memory. "And they…" Her hand drew an unmistakable cutting movement in the air. Goku widened his eyes at her, shocked. "Actually, I was lucky, Goku-sama. I could have died. I _would_ have died if the rich human for whom my father worked at the time hadn't interfered. I was almost sent to the Anthill."

"The Anthill?"

Yanan pointed upwards. "The fortress on the top? We can see a part of it from here."

Goku halted to look at the distant building. "My friends—are they there now?"

"I don't know." She tugged at Goku's jacket sleeve, signaling that they should keep going. "Do they have red eyes?"

"One of them. But Gojyo is just half-youkai."

"Half-youkai or not your friend is in serious trouble, Goku-sama. Do you need help with those bags?"

Goku shook his head and hesitantly resumed his walk. "Sanzo—that's the human monk I travel with—Sanzo went after some papers."

"Hmm. The story about documentation and deadlines is rubbish, Goku-sama. A lie meant to disguise things under a veneer of civilization. They won't give your monk any papers—at least not until the youkai is dead. I've seen it happen many, many times before."

Goku held his breath, startled. He was so certain about the Sanzo-ikkou's total invulnerability that Gojyo really dying in this place, and for such a preposterous reason no less, had only been a laughable notion. But dark shapes were looming over them and taking form. The impossible _did _happen. His own long incarceration was crushing evidence of that.

He had to warn Sanzo that he might be on a wild-goose chase. And he had to…

(_…go there, up to that fortress, and kill and kill and kill every fucking human who gets in my way…_)

_No!_

(_Yes. And to do that, I must have my true power at my disposition. All my true, unrestrained power…_)

"Stop that!" he muttered in panic. "You can't. I can't."

(_Why not?_)

"Because—Sanzo," Goku spluttered out the name, filling his mind with Sanzo's beloved image. "Sanzo will take care of everything. He always does. You know that."

(_Yes_)

"Goku-sama?" A shy, frightened voice. "Are you all right?"

Goku blinked owlishly at the woman who stared at him wide-eyed, then lengthened his steps. Fuck, it was getting official. He _was_ crazy.

Daiki was nowhere in sight when he entered the house again. Yanan's tray was still on a table, but the gun had disappeared. He headed for the spacious room with the inner garden and barged into it with bad grace. Only two men sat on the veranda now, in a much more somber disposition than before.

"Okay, I'll listen," he announced, towering over the ancient and ignoring Long Nails. "But be quick."

"Please, sit down, Goku-sama," the elder rasped.

"I really don't have time—"

Long Nails bowed his head—more to hide his disapproving grimace than to pay any respect. "Please, Goku-sama. I apologize for my manners. I'm Jiro."

"Oh, is that so?" Goku dropped his bags on the floor. "Okay. Pass me one of your pillows … Jiro."

Lips thinned, Jiro took one silk pillow from under his body and placed it in Goku's extended hand.

"Thanks." Goku adjusted the item against his buttocks and plopped down over it with an inelegant and sonorous fart. Jiro recoiled, outraged. "Oops, sorry," Goku drawled unrepentantly. "All those fireworks inspired me."

Chuckling, the ancient beckoned Yanan and her laden tray closer. "Where's Zuoji-san, child?"

"In the kitchen, Ojii-sama." She hesitated for a moment. "Do you want him here?"

"No, no. Let him be."

She knelt at the table and started pouring tea. The first cup was offered to the ancient, the second to Goku. Jiro declined the third with an angry gesture.

After a short pause, the old man looked at his guest with solemnity. "Goku-sama, let me tell you a story about a youkai prince who, tired of humans, had a grandiose vision five hundred years ago. He dreamed of a youkai country, a place where our kind could live and work in peace, where we would be able to keep our lore and traditions, mixed and complex as they are. He chose a deserted area, built the fortress on the top of this hill, and called his new village _Akayama, _Red Mountain. The name is emblematic. It refers not only to this soil that is so difficult to cultivate, but also to youkai eyes. Red Mountain basically means Youkai Mountain."

Goku reached out for a roll. "Really?" he said, his tone neutral.

"In the beginning, it was only a camp of renegade youkai who didn't have anywhere else to go," the ancient went on, sipping his tea. "But I assure you that after a century it was the richest place in all the region. We thrived! It was a definitive answer to the human Know-It-Alls who said that youkai couldn't live together without killing each other. We had artists. Philosophers. Architects. It wasn't easy to provide water for a growing population perched on the outskirts of a desert, but the irrigation system devised at that time is still working, and even now it's still a model for others building in this area. A council was established to look after the common interests… Everything was very liberal."

"How did things change so much?" Goku asked with his mouth full.

"Well. Prosperity attracts greedy eyes. And there is no greedier creature than a human. They started hovering, wanting a part of what was ours. At first, it was some poor families, and those were welcome. You see, our younger generations didn't care about the reasons that had led their parents to isolate themselves in this place to begin with. They had commerce with humans; they visited human villages; they had human friends and human lovers. Good fortune increases carelessness and goodwill, _ne_? For several different reasons, that old myth about peaceful coexistence gained force again."

Jiro clicked his tongue and took the deck of mahjong cards from the table. He started shuffling them, eyes lost in the night sky. It was quiet now and very beautiful—the moon and the stars had it all to themselves once more.

The ancient traced the border of his delicate porcelain cup with a deformed finger. "To shorten a really long story, Goku-sama, in a few decades the humans had taken our town over. Their lives—human lives—have a different rhythm to ours. They are like rabbits, with all those children! Soon enough there were ten, twenty, one hundred humans to each youkai. It was like a plague, an infestation! Suddenly, our kind was a minority and didn't have enough power to revert or change the situation. We started losing seats on the council until there wasn't a single youkai representative. Note that the best lands were youkai property at that time. The human council promoted campaigns—subtle at first and aggressive after a while—claiming the need for a fairer share. The easiest way to achieve their goal was to bring back all the old bigotry—to spread hatred. So, in our own home, we had to face the vicious prejudice that originally forced us to seek refuge here. With the added aggravation of it being officially fostered and supported." The ancient lowered his head and let out a long sigh. "This holiday—this 'Summer Festival'… It marks the anniversary of our foundation. It was a youkai festival. Our festival. The tradition of the fireworks, the red banners, the red lanterns… Even _that _was stolen from us!"

"More tea, Ojii-sama?"

The old man started at Yanan's soft voice. "Ah, yes, please."

Jiro took a card from the deck he held. Apparently it was not a good one, for he raised his plucked eyebrows, scowling.

The ancient pulled a kerchief from a pocket and wiped spit from his lips. "Of course, there were protests, Goku-sama. But the youkai in positions of authority were only looking after their own interests. And, as happens everywhere, the poor were the first to suffer. Many youkai families had to move; youkai farmers were pushed to the outskirts, where the soil is practically barren. Their lands—in some cases even their houses—ended up in human families' hands. Some of them tried to fight back, and their reaction just served to fuel the government's propaganda."

Goku seized another roll from Yanan's tray, curious despite himself. "And?"

Jiro raised his head, glowering at him.

"Xie Haifu became Head of the Council. His family had been one of the first that arrived here, begging for our crumbs. After years of cheating everyone and extending their avid hands to grab everything, they established a powerful dynasty. The Xie were the first humans to be admitted onto the council… And the seat came to be a kind of heirloom to their successive spawn. Then this Haifu bought himself enough power to overrule the others' decisions. He was expanding his family's business to the area of construction, so it was decided that the town urgently needed a connection with the west. The idea of the main road was circulated at that time, and it was sold as the salvation of the struggling human villages nearby. Initially the whole thing was taken as a joke, because the youkai who had been expelled from their homes were living in the outskirts, right where the new road would be constructed."

The ancient's voice faded in and out as his tale went along, and Yanan intervened again to give him time to rest a little. "Do you want more of these rolls, Goku-sama? Or a proper supper? I cooked—"

"No, thanks," Goku declined unwillingly. "But I would love a—"

"Now, how do you get rid of an undesirable population?" the ancient interrupted with passionate violence. "First the humans tried to buy the land from the youkai, offering pitiful sums. But you see, Goku-sama, our neighbors started complaining. They were dispossessing their own 'youkai areas'—in other words, their own barren, unproductive lots. Though they didn't have the 'problem' we had, they didn't have a whole, large population of 'demons.' And they didn't want our youkai invading their villages. So the Main Road Project was temporarily suspended. Now, if you don't want youkai near you, and you don't know where to dispatch them, and they don't want to go anyway, claiming that your lands are in fact theirs… Well, just kill them all and be done with it. This happened only sixty years ago, Goku-sama. I'm not going to describe the horror we had here. You can imagine. They transformed our old fortress—a venerable landmark until then, and former headquarters of the old youkai government—into a prison where our kind has been systematically tortured and killed."

Goku shifted on his pillow, denying himself another roll. "Why didn't you simply pack up and go away? I mean—"

"Goku-sama, this is _our_ home!" thundered the ancient. "This is _our _land! My whole family perished here, down to the last one! I'm not going to leave their bones behind!"

Jiro sprung to his feet in an abrupt, unexpected movement, mahjong cards falling from his hands. One swirled in the air and landed face up on the center of the table. _Huo_. The blazing log that symbolizes waste and danger.

A panel in a dark corner slid to the side, and Goatee hurried onto the veranda, very pale, his punctual intervention a clear sign that he had been eavesdropping. "Ojii-sama, it's very late. We must go, _ne_?" He touched Jiro on a shoulder. "Jiro-san?"

"I'm all right, Zuoji-sama," Jiro whispered tersely. "It's just—I'm all right."

Goatee nodded and sent a meaningful look at the elder.

Goku watched their cryptic interaction with interest. In less desperate circumstances, it would be amusing to get to the bottom of all this. Now he had neither the time nor the will. He turned back to the ancient. "Your story was interesting, but why was it so important to tell it to me?"

"We thought… You were here to help us," the ancient affirmed. "The war isn't over yet. Xie Haifu's grandson is now Head of the Council. He imported these guns, these youkai killing gadgets we see everywhere nowadays. Don't you understand? He's going to finish what his fathers began! We will have to fight for our lives! And we will need a … hero. A powerful, well-known youkai who will inspire respect. Maybe even bring other youkai from afar to help us! Someone who will be a leader to our kind in the battle against humans. Someone who will help us to take back what has always been ours by right!"

Goku gaped at him, stunned. "Huh? Er, I—I'm very busy at the moment. I'm not the man you need here. Sorry, but I'm going to pass."

The ancient kept adamantly shaking his head.

"I only came to your town by coincidence!" Goku insisted. "This is—"

"There is no such thing as coincidence, Goku-sama. It was karma."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Consciousness came to him by degrees. He was laying on a hard surface. He was thirsty. And in pain. There was such a throbbing, agonizing pain in his head that even the most infinitesimal movement pushed a hot needle through his skull. Moaning, he forced himself to open his eyes—and found only darkness.

With a frantic gasp, Hakkai raised a shaking hand to his face, fumbling over what appeared to be a wet blindfold.

Someone grasped his elbow, pulling it down. There was also a voice, a familiar voice, but apparently the process that transformed sounds into comprehensible words was not yet fully operational in his brain. "Sanzo?" he called softly. Anything else would require a strength that he did not have at that moment.

The voice spoke again. It took Hakkai a while to understand what had been said: "Yes. How are you feeling?"

Feeling?

There was pain. And thirst. And pain. And thirst…"Water?" he begged.

"We had some, but I used it to clean your injuries."

Hakkai let out a confused grunt. How come they did not have any water when, this very morning, he had filled their bottles? Then the last part of Sanzo's sentence was sluggishly translated and he frowned. The act provoked a fresh wave of agony over his left eye.

Injuries? Had they been attacked?

"What…" He licked dry lips, unable to finish the question.

"You collapsed," Sanzo answered. "You've been out for two hours—maybe more." A pause. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up again."

Collapsed? Just like that?

Hakkai started searching his scattered thoughts, trying to make sense of them. The last thing he remembered was being at the yard of the Temple of the Soul's Retreat, filling bottles at the well. And the sun…

…the rising sun had touched the full bucket he held. He had stopped working and had sat on the low wall of the well to watch, enthralled, the dancing sunlight on the water. It had been like cradling Life itself—for there was not a single creature in this world that did not need at least one of those magical elements… And what a precious, redemptive gift for a killer to have in his hands!

Then a shadow had fallen upon him, eclipsing the summer day's cheerfulness with fury: Sanzo.

As the hurling of a pebble into a lake creates several concentric circles, this image was the definitive trigger to his memories. And the most recent ones…

"Gojyo!" He sat up abruptly, disregarding out of sheer willpower the explosion inside his head and the dizziness that threatened to topple him over again. The damp compress slipped onto his lap, and he gazed stupidly at it, his vision blurring. For a moment, he thought he was looking at a piece of Gojyo's favorite white shirt—the one that he himself had shredded to be used in similar emergencies. But as it was—and he fingered the thick, bloodied fabric—as it was, he had a part of Sanzo's robe.

With an increasing sense of dread, Hakkai tried to examine his surroundings. The room was small and the window barred. Moonlight filtered in, bested by a single candle stump that sputtered on the sill. Sanzo sat with him on the end of the only bunk this dark cubicle—this _cell—_possessed.

"Sanzo, I—" _know you're angry, made a terrible blunder, want Gojyo back, please please please_—"I'm sorry."

Silence.

Sanzo stared at the reddened water in the basin balanced on his lap as if he would find all the secrets of the universe mirrored in blood. Youkai blood. Hakkai gasped at the scene hopelessly; it presented such a cruel parody of his own enamored contemplation of the sunlight at the well this morning … such a cruel inversion!

And, gods, why, why must it always be water and blood with them, and never water and light?

_Hey, can you lend me your soap?_ Gojyo's voice, blended into the murmur of a sunlit river, reached him again. _I also have some washing to do. _Hakkai closed his eyes as the memory of that lazy afternoon once more took form in his mind.

On the eve of their arrival at the Temple of the Soul's Retreat, the Sanzo-ikkou had camped earlier than usual near a river, and he had taken advantage of the warm afternoon to do his laundry. Up to his waist in clean water, he had hummed to himself as the sun cast the setting in gold. Until he heard Gojyo calling.

The kappa had settled on the grassy bank, awkwardly rummaging through his bag—probably there only to escape Sanzo's constant bashing for a merciful while. Hakkai had waded to him, marveling at the beauty of that red hair, his soul still chanting.

Because there was light and there was water and there was Gojyo…

"Better not to strain your injury," he reprimanded mildly. "Not to mention getting your bandages wet."

"Yeah, well," Gojyo answered with a failed attempt at nonchalance, face somber as he still struggled one-handed with his bag. "It needs to be done."

Itching to run his fingers through Gojyo's hair, Hakkai managed a polite smile. "Pass over whatever you want clean," he offered. "I'll wash it for you."

No protest, no hesitation; Gojyo immediately produced the torn shirt he had been wearing during the youkai ambush and handed it over. There was a lot of dried blood in it and the left sleeve… "Do you think you can save it?"

"I—Gojyo, this is…" _completely beyond help _"…in bad shape. I don't think—"

"Try. Please?"

Dutifully, Hakkai accepted the shirt and went back to the river to wash it. After a short while, red rivulets, like snakes leaving their nest, began poisoning the water. And any songs he felt like humming just withered away and died.

Because there was blood and tainted water and there was…

No Gojyo.

Hakkai squinted at the candle that spat on the windowsill, wringing Sanzo's improvised compress. Blood and water. His hands were soaked with that same amalgam again.

"Why was that damn shirt so important?" he whispered. "I never asked him."

"What? What did you say?"

Sanzo. Sounding worried.

"I—it's… I ruined our chances—Gojyo's chances. Didn't I?" Hakkai stammered. "I freaked out in that office. I lost it… I lost…"

_Gojyo! _

Sanzo bent forward, dropped the basin on the floor with a clang, then leaned his back against the wall. "You're not making much sense, Hakkai. You have a concussion."

"The captain…" and Hakkai trailed off, afraid of continuing.

"…would have let us go," Sanzo finished bitterly for him. "Why did you do that?"

"There was danger," Hakkai muttered. "Gojyo was in danger. I wanted to scream to warn you, I wanted to run to help him… But I couldn't. I can't explain what happened after that. I can't remember everything. And what I do remember is unclear. Smudged."

"You yelled at Wu Tai, demanding that he let us go. _With all your persuasive skills_."

Hakkai started shivering. He had attacked the human—not physically, no, nothing so blunt—he had attacked him with his mind. The details were vague at best, but there was pain involved, excruciating pain. As for the struggle itself… It had been like trying to grab a very thin thread with gloved fingers. He still felt the pressing despair, the urgency that had compelled him to Do So & Not Let Go.

"If you want an explanation, I don't have one," he said in a defensive tone. "I remember focusing my—"

The furious hiss startled him into silence. Sanzo's most eloquent speeches were always delivered without words, and now a powerful Glare hammered into Hakkai a peremptory order: _Do not mention anything related to you being a youkai here, fool! _The 'endearment' was particularly well articulated by the lifting of one thin eyebrow.

Hakkai blinked, unable to stop his upper body's slight pendulous motion. It was becoming almost impossible to maintain his sitting position. "You mean … they don't know?"

"I'm not sure." Sanzo stood and went to the window. The candle bathed his drawn features in warm light. "Wu Tai—well, he didn't say much after the, uh, incident. He just had us escorted here. We're still close to his office, by the way—a door across from it. His secretary brought us some water in that basin and didn't seem aware of any changes regarding your status." He grabbed the bars with both hands. "Gojyo… Gojyo was taken to another prison. They call it the Anthill."

An echo from his intimate connection with Wu Tai jolted Hakkai into horror-stricken stillness. And there was another half-formed memory… He and Gojyo in a stable, he _with _Gojyo…

_We saw… _

He stared at his soiled hands, the metallic smell of blood sickening him.

_…we saw Death._

"Did you—did you really say anything about deadlines?" he rasped.

"Yes." Sanzo turned, hiding his expression in shadows once more. "We have three days. Two, if you consider that it's past midnight."

"What about your…" And Hakkai mimicked shooting a gun.

Sanzo shook his head. "I would have never passed through all those soldiers carrying it. And I have to be careful if I use…" And he touched the scriptures on his shoulders. "Should they be taken away from me then all is lost."

"Where is Goku?"

"I sent him away. He had one of his episodes at that inn. A bad one. I just hope he isn't so spaced out now that he gets into trouble somewhere. And, before you ask, Hakuryu is with him. These people define youkai by eye color and they don't care about … pets. Both should be safe." Sanzo impatiently pushed his hair out of his face. "What happened to you? That gash on your temple is—"

"I was shot."

Even in the dim, insufficient light, Hakkai could make out Sanzo widening his eyes in surprise. Then Sanzo whirled around, balling his fists. Someone was unlocking the door.

Captain Wu Tai entered their cell, sword on his sash. "So," the man drawled, his attention solely on Hakkai, "finally awake, demon?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

"Aw, are you surprised because he was unconscious for so long?" Sanzo asked sarcastically, stepping between Hakkai and the captain. "I, on the other hand, am quite surprised to see him awake _at all_. After being shot in the head, after having to perform a bootlicking session for you, and after… uh, what am I forgetting? Oh, yes, after being brought back to a cell without any medical care, I myself think he is doing quite well, Wu Tai."

Wu Tai frowned and grasped the hilt of his sword. "Your manners are awful, monk. I'm sure you've already been told this, and I'm sure they have gotten you in trouble several times before, so I'm going to do you a favor and ignore your insulting behavior." He turned to the soldiers gathered at the door. Among them, Sanzo recognized the pimpled young man who had escorted him to this building, as well as the lewd Zhou Jun. "Corporal, pass me that lantern," Wu Tai ordered coldly. "And tell Lieutenant Fei Ru that I want my report sent to the Anthill as soon as it's written. The rest of you are dismissed." The lantern was dutifully handed over and Wu Tai closed the door on Zhou Jun's face. Skirting a rigid, poised-to-fight Sanzo, he placed the lantern on a hook, and went to the window. "I have to do something with this room," he muttered, sounding distracted. "I don't spend too much time in here anymore, but I do spend time in here."

"You mean … is _this _your room?" Sanzo asked, glancing suspiciously at the bunk. Hakkai was still sitting on his own, his bloodshot eye darting everywhere as he wrung out his compress. Not well, definitely. There was no way he would be able to pull more tricks with his mind right now.

"Yes, Sanzo-sama, thisis the captain's room," Wu Tai explained casually, his gaze also on Hakkai. "I used to sleep over when I was younger, as did my predecessor. It's not comfortable, but it's much, much better than our lower cells. Am I not right, Cho Hakkai?"

Hakkai looked up, squinting. "Yes. And I wonder why I am not in one of them right now, Captain."

Sanzo cringed at the slurred voice.

"Because I needed time to sort things out," Wu Tai answered. "Make no mistake, demon, you may end up in a much worse place before daybreak."

Sanzo groaned in frustration and, pushing Hakkai's legs out of his way, flopped down on the bunk. "I don't get it," he bristled. "What else do you want from us?"

"Sanzo…" Hakkai laid a shaking hand on Sanzo's left knee. "Let the captain—"

Sanzo jerked his knee free. "No, Hakkai, I will do this my way. I won't resume exchanging bows and honorifics, or measuring my words to appease his delusions." He looked at Wu Tai. "I've told you the truth; you _are_ interfering with a holy mission. My youkai servants _were_ chosen by the goddess herself; we aren't together on such a journey by chance. I can't—stop that, Hakkai!"

"But, Sanz—"

"I'm done with explanations, Captain," Sanzo continued, pushing Hakkai's insistent hand away. "So, let's cut the chase. If you want money, I can get you some. I can buy our freedom."

Wu Tai froze for a moment, then pulled his sword halfway from its sheath. "_How dare you?_" he hissed, furious. "Do you know who you are talking to, you insolent brat?"

Sanzo sprung to his feet. "At first, I thought I was talking to a man of honor," he countered, equally incensed. "Now I wonder if that is only a convenient facade. Is it?"

"Sanzo," Hakkai moaned, "don't—"

"I am _not_ a mercenary!" Wu Tai boomed.

"Good for you," Sanzo drawled. "Now stop playing the role of honorable warrior and act like one for once!"

"Sanzo, please—"

"If I were you, monk, I would tread very careful," Wu Tai warned in a lower tone. "Disrespecting an authority here can land you in jail for months. Years, depending on the offense and on the authority. And, as you've stated, you're in a hurry."

"And what do your precious laws say about authority abuse, _Captain_?" Sanzo spat the title disdainfully and indicated the bunk. "My servant was shot in the head, and your men didn't even know that he was a 'demon,' am I not right? I can only imagine how many human casualties this war of yours has caused in this area."

"We do what we must to protect ourselves. And I deal with my men—"

"Of course you do," Sanzo scorned. "If I understand what happened, one of your men transferred a prisoner on his own accord right under your nose."

"Sanzo, stop…" Hakkai begged pitifully.

"You accuse me of having bad manners, and that's true," Sanzo went on. "I'm many things, Wu Tai, and I lack many things, but, unlike you, I am not a hypocrite!"

"Please," Hakkai wheezed, "stop…"

"Stop?" Sanzo repeated, satisfied in seeing Wu Tai's cornered expression. "Why? Because I'm hurting his oh-so-delicate sense of propriety?"

"No," Hakkai mumbled almost incoherently, "…cos you're making my headache worse. Don't scream. Please, don't scream!"

Sanzo turned to the bunk, stunned. Hakkai was curled in on himself, hands on his ears, face contorted in pain.

"It seems the demon has more sense than we both, Sanzo-sama," Wu Tai said, breaking the silence.

Sanzo scowled at the captain and went to Hakkai, pulling him up to his previous sitting position.

"Sanzo?" Hakkai croaked, eyes tightly shut.

"I'm here."

Hakkai rested his head on Sanzo's shoulder, hiding there his misery. "We must go. Can we go? Gojyo… Gojyo needs us."

"Yeah, I know. Hakkai? Don't go to sleep now. Okay? Hakkai?" Sanzo looked at Wu Tai. "Do you have a doctor here?"

Wu Tai raised an eyebrow. "Are all your requests so demanding, foreigner?"

A muscle twitched in Sanzo's jaw. "Could you _please _send a doctor here, _Captain_?" he asked slowly.

Wu Tai tried to sustain the scathing look, then switched his attention to the window. "Your manners are awful, boy. Awful."

"Fuck, man, I don't have time—"

"Back in my office," Wu Tai interrupted. "How did your creature do _that_? How did it attack me?"

"I don't know," Sanzo replied, not bothering to contest the other's choice of words. In a certain way, Hakkai _was_ his creature. "And I suspect he doesn't, either."

"I pride myself on my self-control," Wu Tai said half under his breath. "I pride myself on my strength of mind. Your demon, however, took all that from me. It rendered me helpless. It's not a feeling I'm used to." A pause. "And I shared its pain. Its fear. Its despair for the other demon."

"They are close friends," Sanzo responded, feeling uncomfortable speaking about Hakkai as if he were not present.

"I'm very angry, Sanzo-sama. It's understandable, _ne_? Your demon has … violated me—" Sanzo opened his mouth to protest, but Wu Tai held up a hand, indicating that he had not finished. "I'm also… Well, intrigued. I've believed all my life that youkai are unable to experience emotions like us. That their reactions always occur on a purely physical, instinctive level. That they are nothing but a primitive imitation of humans. You know, soulless beasts. Now…" Wu Tai shook his head.

"Yeah, and as you can guess, we're thrilled to have proven you wrong," Sanzo growled. "Do you have a doctor here or not?"

"Endless philosophic discussions have been held on this subject, Sanzo-sama," Wu Tai proceeded, ignoring Sanzo's comment. "Once, a scholar approached me to question me about it. He was willing to conduct a serious research and asked me to help him. I myself have academic curiosity. I've collected and recorded stories ever since I started my work on the force. You see, I'm planning to write a book when I finally retire. This must be the strangest incident of my whole career."

"Right, I'll buy a copy," Sanzo said, at the end of his tether. "Now. I. Need. A. Doctor."

Wu Tai faced him. "No doctor I know will treat this thing, monk."

"You're the boss here, aren't you? Or are you telling me that it's common for your subordinates to go behind your back and choose which orders they'll follow?"

Wu Tai did not answer. Woodenly, he took his lantern and headed for the door.

"Wu Tai!" Sanzo shouted as the captain exited the room and secured the lock from the outside. In his arms, Hakkai whimpered a complaint. "You fucking bigot! I'm going to shove that sword up your ass!"

"Sanzo?"

Sanzo peered down guiltily.

"How—how did we get ourselves trapped in this mess again?" Hakkai rasped.

Sanzo sagged against the wall, bringing Hakkai with him. "Damned if I know."

But that was not totally honest, was it? He did know. They had been angry at each other. They had been careless.

_They?_ he scolded himself._ No. I. I was the angry one. I was the careless one. I'm the leader, and I've failed them. _

"…lavender…" Hakkai murmured.

"What?"

"Your scent. Lavender."

"Yeah. Now open your eyes. Hakkai? Open them up."

"…tired."

"You can sleep all you wish later, when we get out of here." And Sanzo began shaking him slightly. "Eyes open, Hakkai."

"Sanzo, don't! …hurts…"

"I'll stop if you talk to me. Come on, Hakkai."

"Stop, Sanzo, please—"

"Talk to me and I'll stop."

"Talk about what?" Hakkai stammered. "You don't like to talk…"

"Anything you wish. Just don't go to sleep."

A short moment of hesitation. "Gojyo?"

Sanzo let out a loud, resigned sigh that blew sweaty hair off Hakkai's forehead. "Okay. _Him_."

Hakkai shifted against his body, sinking further into their embrace. "He loves you."

Sanzo stilled, speechless. For a while, all he could do was watch the flickering candle stump on the windowsill. When, with a last sputter, it finally died, their only source of light became the moon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Don't go to sleep. _

Right.

Sanzo had told him that.

Sanzo had also told him "Talk."

Had even acknowledged the chosen topic.

But it seemed that Sanzo had also drawn a clear line between 'talking' and 'discussing'—and, within that limit, Hakkai could apparently mumble to his heart's content as long as the words kept coming.

It did not mean that Sanzo was going to _listen_ to him.

The image of an outraged Goku screaming "Not fair!" popped up into his mind. Because whatever was said here would make no difference in the end.

Not fair. At all.

Too tired and too ill to find a rational solution to break their impasse, Hakkai opted for silence. If Sanzo wanted a 'talk,' he would have to hold up his part in the conversation.

When Sanzo eventually let out a vicious curse, Hakkai almost smiled. Yes, he did not play fair either.

"Did _he_ ask you to grovel on his behalf?" Sanzo spat.

Hakkai slowly lifted his head. Sanzo still propped him up, the fair hair now his most distinctive feature, shining whitish in the streaming moonlight. "You know, _he_ has a name," Hakkai murmured, struggling to give his words a coherent pattern. "Can't you say it?"

"Answer me," Sanzo hissed. "Did _Gojyo _ask you to act as his pimp?"

Hakkai startled, and his body's involuntary jolt caused him to grimace in pain. "_What_?"

"You heard me."

Indeed. But it was still difficult to believe. How _dare_ Sanzo insinuate such a thing? Hakkai tried to scramble away, wanting nothing to do with the human right now.

"Oh, no." Sanzo reached out, grabbing his shoulders. "You wanted to be a part of this, so you'll be a part of this. If you aren't too sick to poke your nose into my life, you can very well answer my question!"

"Get off of me!" A vicious shake and Hakkai gasped helplessly as white-hot pain flared. "Sanzo…"

"Yes or no," Sanzo demanded, tightening his grip. "It isn't so hard for a smart, smart guy like you. Just yes. Or. No."

"No," Hakkai moaned.

Sanzo released him, straightening back to his previous position. Hakkai slipped onto the bed and there he lay, lost in the agony that threatened to split his head into two burning halves. When the worst finally receded, he bent his legs, trying to put some distance between himself and the other occupant of the bunk. Something wet was trickling down his face; he raised a tremulous hand to brush it off, then licked his fingers, wondering at the salty taste.

Was it sweat? Tears? With a metallic hint…

"Blood," he sighed.

As always.

Sanzo said something unintelligible, bent over him again, and slapped his wrist down in another uncalled for reaction. It seemed that being locked in a darkened room with a demon slurping his own bodily fluids was too much for his sensibilities.

Hakkai huddled further into himself, angry and disappointed. He wanted to lash out—would have lashed out—if he had not sensed Sanzo's despair and concern. Concern for him. And concern for _him_. For Gojyo.

"Sanzo?" he rasped, his blurring eye on the window.

"What?"

"I want to hurt, really hurt you right now."

"Yeah, well; get to the end of the line," Sanzo replied in a low, neutral tone. "You okay?"

With the lingering taste of tears and blood in his mouth, Hakkai merely snorted.

"My business with Gojyo," Sanzo muttered, after an awkward pause, "is my business with Gojyo. It has nothing to do with you."

Hakkai shifted his position on the bunk, still watching the window coming in and out of focus. "Your 'business' with Gojyo has endangered us all," he slurred. It was not intended as an accusation, but ended up sounding like one. And this was neither the time nor the place to have such a discussion. Not with so much at risk and his being barely able to think.

"And that's why I'm going to put an end to that shit as soon as I can," Sanzo retorted.

On the other hand … when and where else would he and Sanzo be free to open up with each other like this? Both of them were too tired to care about losing face. And in the morning, he could feign he had been too ill to know better, and Sanzo could pretend that he was only obliging a delirious teammate. "Gojyo thinks you're going to send him away," he murmured, deciding to go the entire way.

"I thought you weren't having this conversation as his spokesman?" Sanzo did not bother to hide his resentment this time.

"I'm not. As a friend, I'm worried."

"And as the leader of our fucking group, I will do what is best for the mission. Not that I have to justify myself to you."

"Keep on hurting him and you will."

"Are you threatening me, youkai?" The cold voice dripped contempt.

"No." Hakkai closed his eyes for a moment. "But I won't stand by anymore as you deride him. Gojyo isn't a 'whore'—"

"He's certainly doing an excellent impersonation."

"—and you have no right to treat him like dirt."

"Why should I treat him better than he treats himself?" Sanzo sneered. "He acts like a—"

"Because you know better," Hakkai said, desperately trying to gather energy to speak. "He doesn't. Not really."

"Oh, please. Let's not pay a visit to that merry land of traumatic childhoods and damaging experiences, right? We all had—have—complicated lives."

"_Unique _complicated lives. You can't compare—" Hakkai's dry throat choked his next words. Damn. Where had Sanzo put that basin with water again?

"Hakkai?"

"Yes, I—I'm fine. But Gojyo … isn't. You two—"

"We _two_? Hakkai, I fail to see why you're relating that kappa to me on such a level."

Hakkai chuckled giddily. "And that's your issue with him, right? Such a _level_."

"You're distorting my words."

"Am I? So explain to me why you have to make so filthy what Gojyo has offered you?"

"Did he _tell_ you?" And there was so much anger in Sanzo's voice, so much hatred. "I can't fucking believe that!"

"He told me his version of the story. He's pretty upset—"

"Yeah, as I am," Sanzo snapped. "Besides, I'm not the one who wallows in filth. Or are you forgetting that what he has 'offered' me is also freely given to anyone who wishes to take it?"

"You said yourself … impersonation. I don't find it difficult to see through his act." The water … _where_ was it?

"Perhaps you're the one who sees too much," Sanzo countered. "Pretty ironic, circumstances considered."

Hakkai flinched. So unlike Sanzo, this blunt low blow. But it did not matter. The basin … he had to find the basin. "Where—where did you put it? The basin, I mean." Then he remembered. Sanzo had put it on the floor. And the water was soiled. With blood.

As always.

"I can't drink that," he said dejectedly.

"Of course not," Sanzo answered, surprised. "We haven't reached the bottom of this pit, yet."

Hakkai wet his lips, blinking. The window… What had happened to the window? "Sanzo? Did you—did you close the—the shutters?" No, of course not. The window had no shutters and Sanzo had not moved from his side. Yet… "We need light," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't…" _I don't like the dark!_

He felt Sanzo lean forward and braced himself, expecting more pain. Sanzo was talking and touching him—very carefully, this time—but Hakkai could not make out what was being said. Then there was noise. Lots of noise. Sanzo was up, pounding and screaming at the door, demanding captains and doctors and help, among a string of furious swearing.

Despite everything, Hakkai had to smile. Though he was angry with Sanzo… He could not really be angry with Sanzo. An eternity ago, he, too, had been a lost young man in a private war against the world. Quick to hurt. Slow to forget and forgive. Yes, his former self and Sanzo had many things in common. Sadly enough, such a realization brought about another: Cho Gonou was only a detached memory now. Hakkai could look back but not fully understand the motives that had driven the desperate boy he had been once.

"Sanzo?" he rasped, suddenly sad. The noise at the door ceased at once. "I think… I think I've forgotten what it is to be human."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

"It's getting light. Hey! Did you hear me?"

Goku paid no attention. He was frantic and his Being Careful act had definitely worn off. He inhaled a lungful of air, then let out a howling call that filled the deserted street: "Hakuryu!"

Dogs started barking in the distance and Daiki came trotting over to him, shaking his head in disapproval. "Shut up, you moron," the youkai hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

At this point, Goku really did not care.

They had expanded their search from the plaza where the puppeteer's wagon had been to this not-so-close neighborhood out of sheer desperation—Hakuryu was a loyal member of the Sanzo-ikkou and would not have simply fled away, as Daiki had suggested when they had begun looking for him. Now hours had gone by, the night had come to an end, and still there was no sign of the dragon.

Goku looked around, baffled. What should he do? Maybe the others were already at that potter's workshop, waiting for him. And he could not, _would not_, appear before his friends without Hakuryu. Sanzo would be so angry! And Hakkai… How was he supposed to explain _this _to Hakkai?

He tightened his grip on the bags he carried, ashamed for being worried about the consequences he would have to bear. He had to think of Hakuryu. Hakuryu was lost. Maybe hurt. Maybe dead.

"Hakuryu!" he called again, stressing the name into a howl.

There was a new volley of frenzied barks in the following silence and a woman poked her head through a window. "Go shout in hell, you son of a bitch!" she yelled. "You woke my baby!"

Daiki hissed and kicked Goku from behind. "Either you shut up or you're on your own. I'm—"

"I'll call the soldiers, you drunken bums!" the woman screeched before disappearing inside her house.

"And she will do it, no doubt," Daiki said. "Fuck, I'm through with this shit. I'm going home."

"Fine," Goku growled impatiently. "Scram and leave me alone!"

They were in a particularly steep area, and Goku forced his tired legs to keep on propelling him up, always up, knowing he could not simply dismiss his guide, but unable to turn around and accept the fact that it was useless to continue searching erratically. He needed…

(_Sanzo_)

…a plan.

"Please, be okay, Hakuryu," he mumbled, trying to swallow the painful lump lodged in his throat. "I shouldn't—I shouldn't have left you. I won't do that ever again, I swear. Just be okay and we're—" He stumbled and fell awkwardly onto his knees. Gojyo's bag escaped his grip and slid down a few meters. For a while, all he could do was stare stupidly at it as he pulled Sanzo's bigger bag to his chest.

"Are you all right?"

Daiki.

Still there, despite everything. It seemed that Yanan had a reason to be so smug, after all.

Slowly, jerkily, Goku stood. He spared a glance at his free hand—some of his deeper cuts were bleeding again—then shuffled down the street. To press his lacerated palm to the thin, cutting leather straps of Gojyo's bag was an exercise in self-control and he retrieved it with a whimper. Then he continued heading down.

"It's morning already," Daiki said nervously, as Goku trudged past him. Goku ignored the comment. He really, really preferred the youkai's earlier monosyllabic grunts. "Did you hear me? Goku?"

"We're going back to that plaza," Goku informed him, lengthening his stride, "and to that house where you took me yesterday."

"But the sun is rising!"

"So?" Goku spat. "Are you some sort of wrath that must go back to your grave at sunrise?"

"So I won't know where those fucking soldiers will be!"

Goku halted. "What?"

"The patrol codes change every day, dumbass," Daiki caught up with him, anxious. "I knew the code for yesterday. I don't know the code for today. The more we linger on the streets, the more our chances of running into a group of armed humans."

"You're making this up," Goku answered skeptically.

"Shit, man! Why would I lie? I agreed to help you, didn't I?"

Goku shrugged and resumed walking, Daiki on his heels. "I can't give Hakuryu up," he said after a long pause. "I just can't. I have to find him, or at least find out what's happened to him. If he's dead…" his voice broke, and he had to make a conscious effort to finish his reasoning, "I must know. I owe him that much."

"Maybe he is with your other friends," Daiki said, his hesitant tone betraying the fact that he did not believe such a possibility. "Maybe—"

"No. Sanzo told us to go and wait for him. And Hakuryu…" Goku trailed off, then went on, "Hakuryu has more sense than me and would stay put. He knows that I will need him—need the jeep—to go back for a certain old fart of an abbot in case Sanzo doesn't turn up at our meeting point tonight." There was a tug on his left arm, and he relinquished Gojyo's bag to Daiki's care, relieved. "Thanks. The plaza … is that way, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But we're not going back there. So, move your ass or you'll also lose part of your luggage." And Daiki sprinted in the opposite direction.

"What! You thief!"

Cursing under his breath, Goku had no other choice but to play along. He was led through deserted streets that grew narrower, shorter, and more interconnected. When the first sunrays began brushing yards and rooftops, both accelerated their pace to a rhythm that no human would be able to match. Daiki finally stopped at a narrow stairway, sent his pursuer a daring grin and launched himself downwards. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Goku tackled the precarious thing much more carefully—he still had the bumps and bruises from last night to prove the danger of such a game.

The steps plunged into a thicket, with the higher tree branches forming a tunnel that the still tentative sun barely penetrated. Halfway through his descent, Goku got the vivid impression of Being Watched. He ignored his fluttering stomach and tried to move faster. He would not look back; he did not want to see _her _hovering in the shadows. There was too much on his mind already.

Daiki was nowhere in sight when he reached a beaten dirt path. Goku advanced a few meters, bewildered, struggling to expand his senses past the loud pounding of blood in his ears. Then froze, a nagging suspicious feeling he had been ignoring so far suddenly crystallizing into absolute certainty: it was a trap.

Of course it was a trap.

His refusal to be a part in these youkai's little war had not been taken well. The ancient's unctuous benevolence had become a blind, lethal fury at having his pleads for help denied. Goku had even gotten from him the same impression he had when facing Changed youkai—the ones that ended up robbed of all their rational thoughts. Unlike those pitiful creatures, though, 'Grandpa' would have been a formidable adversary if he were a century or two younger.

And now his watchdog had lured the 'foreigner' to this secluded place… For what purpose but an execution? It was the logical thing to do, right? After all, in exchange for his friends' freedom, Goku could go to the humans and offer information on their subversive activities. Not that he could… Not that he would…

…would he?

The stairway… He had to run to it before the bullets came…

But the thought to drop Sanzo's bag, whirl around and dart as fast as possible was malformed, blurred, imperfect.

He was wretchedly tired.

And Hakuryu was still missing. Maybe hurt. Maybe dead.

Besides… _She_ was there. Hurt. Dead.

A sparrow fluttered to the ground. Goku focused his eyes on it, on how the tiny brownish feathers shone when catching the first sunrays.

_I'm going to die now_, he thought numbly_. And this little bird is the last thing I'm going to see. _

"Hey, Goku! What are you fucking doing? Come in!"

Goku blinked and slowly turned to the voice. Daiki sent him an annoyed glare, then entered a minuscule, inconspicuous house. No wonder it had not been noticeable among the vegetation: its walls were so covered with mold that it blended perfectly into its surroundings. Goku shuffled towards the door warily, still expecting to be shot.

"By all means, don't stand on ceremony!" Daiki drawled. "It isn't fancy like that inn of yours, but at least quality company is guaranteed!"

The house was basically a crumbling brick square. In a darkened corner, pans and crates indicated the kitchen; in another, a mirror on the wall and an unfolded bedroll marked the space of the bedroom—Gojyo's bag had been dumped there. The window was an irregular hole, covered with a strange curtain of colorful beads.

Daiki was sitting on a box, taking off his boots, obviously excited by their adventure. "Man, that was crazy, _ne_? What we did? Crazy! Yanan is always getting me in some kind of trouble." There was no resentment or animosity on his face, still swollen where Goku had hit him. "Women," he chuckled and lifted glittering eyes to Goku, who was finding it hard to reconcile this talkative boy to his laconic, harsh kidnapper. "I have water, if you wish."

Goku dropped Sanzo's bag near the door and began fumbling with the straps of the bag of supplies still attached to his back. "Where is the bathroom?"

"Huh? Oh. Huh. Outside. Behind the house."

Goku lowered the supplies to the floor and went out again. There was nothing behind the house but a foul smelling bucket half-hidden by a shrub. He sniffed, disbelievingly, and craned his head to look down. "Shit!"

"Yeah," came the amused answer from inside. "Literally."

"Oh, give me a break!" Goku's moan was directed heavenwards.

He relieved himself surveying the trees. The sun was definitely taking over the world now and the birds greeted it with glorious enthusiasm. Fuck, but he was tired … and hungry.

Now, that clerk, Querulous-san… That man had given Sanzo food. And Sanzo had given _him_ the food. So, okay, it had not been plain and simple like this, and he also had previous, and categorical, orders against opening their bag of supplies. But one could break the rules in dire circumstances. He never disobeyed his monk without a good reason. Though the aftermath, truth be told, always resulted in…

He glanced down at the brownish matter floating in the bucket.

Yes. Exactly.

Something brushed slightly against his face and Goku recoiled, startled. Just a fly, he noticed with a grimace; a fly attracted by the filth and the already hot day. Soon enough there would be a true swarm here; the sunlight did not conjure forth only cute winged beings like birds or diminutive youkai dragons.

Gods, Hakuryu!

An image of that small body, beaten bloody and covered with flies, was enough to make him retch.

Eating now was definitely not a priority. He fled back to the house.

"Man, if you want to keep this place a secret," he blabbered, semi-hysterical, "it would be better to empty that disgusting thing. Those soldiers—"

"Close the door," Daiki said.

Goku complied, his mouth still running independently of his brain, "—will smell you from the—"

Then he saw it. Hanging from a peg on the inner side of the decrepit door.

A dark uniform.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Goku stepped back, aghast. "Are you one of _them_?"

"How do you think I got my weapon?" Daiki answered contemptuously.

"But…"

"I'm only a lowly, underpaid private." Daiki went to the 'kitchen' barefooted and began rummaging through the crates. "I can't be bright enough to call undue attention to myself nor stupid enough to get discharged. I also have access to some interesting news and crucial information, like the patrol codes. Ah, here it is!" He proudly displayed a metal cup. "Thirsty?"

Still very apprehensive, Goku crouched near the door. "Yeah. Patrol codes? I noticed that the soldiers work in zones."

"Zones?" Daiki frowned. "No, not exactly. The rounds follow certain patterns that change constantly. They were doing the Lotus Flower when I met you in that plaza." He drew in the air two juxtaposed circles with his free hand. "It changed into the Bamboo Field at midnight." The circles developed into a broader ellipse, cut in half by a vertical line. "And to the Rabbit's Path forty minutes after that." The vertical line shifted to form a zigzag. Daiki dropped his hand and shrugged. "I simplified things grossly, but you've got the idea, right? No need to bore you to death."

"And you know all of those patterns?" Goku rested his head against the wall.

"And their variations. And their combinations. And how to proceed when a suspect is being followed." Daiki reached out for a jug and poured water into his cup. "This system is very old, by the way; our kind spent decades studying it. But it's impossible to know from where the soldiers will start their pattern sequences, or the pattern sequences themselves, unless someone has access to the schedules."

"And you're this someone."

Daiki downed the cup in one go. "Yeah. That's me."

Licking his dry lips, Goku studied his soiled bandages. "It doesn't make any sense. To go to such lengths simply to capture youkai, then have one in their ranks."

"The force's main purpose isn't to hunt youkai. Not any more. You saw a lot of soldiers on the streets because the town is brimming with foreigners who came for the Festival. As for me—and you—being relatively safe around here … well. Their blindness regarding us can be explained by their prosaic beliefs about eye color. It became the determining factor of humanity in this town." Daiki flashed him a lopsided smile. "Poetic justice, don't you agree? They went nuts about that sickly half-breed of yours, but welcomed a powerful demon like you."

Goku merely glared. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Daiki refilled the cup and approached him after a moment of hesitation. "Listen, uh, Goku. I'm sorry about your dragon. Okay? I'm sorry. I know what youkai go through here, so I should be the first to try and prevent more suffering. But it was making a lot of noise, and I got panicky."

"How do you know so much about my group?" Goku whispered as he accepted the water.

Daiki sat on the floor in front of him. "We, and by 'we' I mean the youkai of this town, have heard all kinds of fantastic rumors about you. The humans are pretty much in the dark, it seems. But we know."

"Yes, but _how _did you know that we would be here?"

"Ojii-sama has tried to bring foreigners to help him with his cause for years, and your name was on his list," Daiki explained. "Can you imagine his glee when he was informed that the notorious Son Goku was only a few hours away, lodged at the Temple of the Soul's Retreat? He dispatched his best men to intercept you, either in the temple or at one of those little villages more to the south. Your coming directly here via the main road wasn't even considered."

"We're in a hurry." Goku sipped water and absently shooed a fly that had found its way into the house. "But you were saying?"

"I was lingering at the station yesterday evening, hoping that the schedules for today would be released early, when the first reports arrived. Four foreigners had entered our town using a 'special' vehicle. All male. One wore a monk's robe, another had red hair… My, er, colleagues did not see anything wrong in the beginning, you know, just foreigners visiting for the Festival. But _I _couldn't believe what I was reading. I mean, how many monks would travel this area in the company of a half-youkai? It couldn't be just a coincidence. I had to alert Jiro-sama, so I stayed there long enough to learn that your group was heading towards the area with the most expensive inns. Not very practical going there from the main road … you had to walk a lot."

"No kidding."

"Complain when you get a collection like mine!" Daiki chortled and wriggled his toes, displaying several painful-looking calluses. "Anyway. It happened that Ojii-sama had already been warned of your presence by another of his sources and wanted to talk to you personally. I was given orders to bring you to him. Everything had to be improvised like _that_." Daiki snapped his fingers and Goku blinked. "By then, your team was already in trouble. I was in that park when your friends were arrested."

Goku rapped his fingernails on the empty cup, then dropped it on the floor. "There was no need to take me at gunpoint."

"Goku. If the soldiers had caught us together, I would have had to use the excuse of having arrested you. For obvious reasons, I can't lose my position on the force—I'm the first demon who managed to infiltrate their ranks. So, too much was—_is_—at stake and we didn't have time to plan. Besides… Would you have listened to me?"

"Maybe I would have."

Daiki snorted. "Yeah, right. Like Ojii-sama said: you're famous."

"If you're so well-informed about my group, why did Jiro and the guy with the goatee—"

"Zuoji." The name was followed by a scowl.

"Yeah, whatever. Why did they accuse me of being a youkai killer?"

"I think they were testing you. Hearing about someone is different to having the person under your roof. Besides, they were trying to get you angry enough to refuse Ojii-sama any assistance. They wouldn't have told Ojii-sama about your presence in this town if it could have been avoided."

"I don't understand…" Too late, Goku realized that he had whined his response.

"Not all of Ojii-sama's decisions are wise, Goku. We don't need a savior. A 'hero.' We're on the eve of a battle, but not the one that Ojii-sama wants to fight." Daiki got up, dismissing more questions. "I've talked too much, and you aren't really interested in all this anyway. Like you yourself said, it's _our _problem." There was a noise in the background, just a brief burst of drums and singing. Daiki twisted his mouth and added, "The streets will be overrun by the crowds today. It's beginning already. What are you going to do?"

Do?

Goku frowned in concentration. "Sanzo and the others must be waiting for me," he murmured, focusing on the colorful beads in the window. They were the only cheerful item in this place. "I should go to them. Though…" How was he supposed to leave without Hakuryu? The fly was bothering him again, but he lacked the will to wave it away. "I could go to Sanzo and Sanzo would sort things out. He always does."

"You certainly put a lot of faith in a human."

Goku nodded. "He's Sanzo." And that summarized and explained his whole universe.

"Is it true that you were sealed in a mountain for centuries and he freed you?"

Goku had to make a conscious effort to maintain eye contact, humiliated by this stranger's knowledge of his incarceration. "Yeah."

"And, since then, you've followed him around like a puppy. Right? Not very clever. What happens when this monk of yours dies? Hmm? What happens when he dies and both humans and gods come after you?"

A stunned, frozen silence.

"What do you mean?" Goku stuttered. "Sanzo won't let them—"

"And how will Sanzo stop them? He will be dead."

Goku just stared, incredulous.

Daiki mocked Goku's shocked expression by mirroring it, then smirked superiorly. "How old is Sanzo? Twenty? Twenty-something? Fuck, don't tell me you'd never thought of that! Forty, fifty, sixty years from now, that man will be dead—if disease or disaster doesn't take him first. And then? What happens to you?"

Goku sprang to his feet, spluttering. "Sanzo won't let anyone do anything to me! Sanzo won't let anyone lock me away again!" He swayed in place for a moment, feeling nauseated. "You don't know Sanzo; he would _never_ let anyone hurt me!"

"It appears that your imprisonment affected your brain," Daiki countered evenly. "Your Sanzo's lifespan is nothing compared to yours, dumbass. Your time with him was already running out long before you met."

"Sanzo won't die!" Goku yelled, projecting his _chi _in warning. "Do you hear me? I won't let him die!"

"I heard you're powerful, but I didn't know you also had a say in such matters," Daiki rasped, his tone considerably less cocky. "You should stick with your own kind; that's what history has taught us—"

"My _kind_?" Goku repeated, his eyes taking in the constrictive space in which he was trapped. "You don't know shit about me. And you don't know shit about Sanzo, so you will stop saying his name and you will stop saying that he's going to leave me!"

"Humans die like flies, fuckwit," Daiki muttered. "That's not a secret."

"No, it isn't… But Sanzo… Sanzo won't…" But of course Sanzo would. Humans did die. That was not a secret. "Sanzo can't…" Terrifying. It was terrifying, the prospect of going back to that time and place, to Before Sanzo. As a matter of fact, it would be worse, for there would be no more Sanzo and no Sanzo to come. No Sanzo at all. Sanzo would be dead, gone, lost to him forever. And how would life be After Sanzo? "Sanzo can't die! Sanzo—" The last words lapsed into an incoherent mumble. Goku strode to the window. Turned. Went back to the door.

"Goku? Hey, I—"

"Shut up!" The fear he could now sense radiating off Daiki only disconnected him further from reality. He began wringing his hands, tearing at his bandages and at his own flesh as he moved back to the window. "He won't die! He can't die! He is…" _father companion protector everything everything everything _"…Sanzo!"

Four steps to the door. Four to the window.

His nails drew blood, and the smell made him growl in hunger.

He whirled around when he felt another's _chi_ collecting—puny, laughable, nothing compared to his—but still a disturbance, still an invasion. The urge to attack was almost uncontrollable then. His prey crawled to a corner and tried to muster a shield. Goku advanced on it, easily calling forth more of his own boundless energy along with a mute warning: _Don't_. 

His prey understood the message and stilled. Goku hovered above it, waiting for a movement—any movement—that would work as the signal to kill. His nostrils flared at the scent of blood.

He wanted more. He craved more. He needed…

(_Sanzo!_)

…blood.

(_No!_)

He focused on the image of his human's face, on the remembered sound of his human's voice and calmed enough to swerve his interest back to his own personal inner hell, resuming his circuit: four steps to the window, four to the door. Again.

And again.

How long was it until he became, once more, aware of his surroundings? The sun had moved. Now it leaked into the moldy little house through the colorful beads. A fly buzzed excitedly over shreds of white fabric.

Soiled white fabric.

His torn bandages dotted the floor, amidst clear footmarks, stamped in red. It appeared that he had been trampling over…

"Blood," he gasped.

The realization made him finally stop in his tracks, bringing back a disturbing image.

Hakuryu.

Covered with flies.

Ripped into bloodied white pieces by these fanatics.

Then pain hit him full force, and he stared at his mauled hands. "What … what happened?"

"You're crazy," someone croaked.

In shock, Goku raised his eyes. His kidnapper-turned-guide watched him warily from his corner. On his knees.

Goku gaped at the cringing youkai for what seemed an eternity, unable to form any coherent thought. The spell was broken when a voice reached them from somewhere, singing with inebriated determination:

_"I ain't crying for what I had, _

_I ain't crying for what I lost." _

"I—Hakuryu. What should I do?" Goku asked, needing Sanzo desperately. Sanzo would know. Sanzo…

…was not here to answer him.

_"I'm crying for what I'll have," _

And one day…

_"I'm crying for what I'll lose." _

Sanzo would no longer be able to answer him.

Because there would not be a Sanzo any more.

"I can go to Captain Wu Tai's district," Daiki rasped, gaining his feet unsteadily. "I don't work there, but it's where they're dealing with your friends. I'll try to dig up some news. Maybe your Sanzo really walked away with the other youkai and the half-breed. I suppose he has a lot of pull."

Goku nodded frantically. "If there is anyone who can get things done," he said under his breath, "that's Sanzo."

"I'll go there, then." Carefully, without turning his back to Goku, Daiki skirted the mess on the floor to retrieve his boots.

"I'm going with you. Maybe Hakuryu is with Sanzo—"

"No way." Daiki spared Goku a glance, his face very pale. "I don't know if there's been a specific order to arrest you by now. Even if there isn't, I can't be seen with you in broad daylight. And you're in no state to be seen in public. You look like an escapee from a horror tale."

"But I am one." Goku let out a mirthless chuckle. "And the tale isn't over yet."

Daiki's only answer was a noncommittal grunt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Listening to Hakkai's shallow breathing, Sanzo watched as the morning light chased and shifted the shadows in their cell. He had given up rousing the youkai hours ago, when his efforts had become pure torture for both of them. There was a limit to what he was ready to put this particular demon through.

And Wu Tai…

Wu Tai had not sent a doctor.

Sanzo did not know what to make of these people's indifference. Gyomao and his followers thrived on destruction and chaos, so their goal still had its own parcel of logic. But this? What could justify this? Had Wu Tai gone home to a wife's loving welcome? Had he sat at his table, commenting on the weather and how tired he was from a long day's work? Would he receive family and friends today for the Festival, aware that, as he laughed and joked, a bright young man had died or was dying because of him?

How could this be?

_You tried to kill Gojyo. _

No.

The memory of his hesitation in the barley field was enough to stir guilt and self-hatred, but he would not have let Gojyo be killed. No more than he would have pulled the trigger himself. It had been just a morbid fantasy—like the one that whispered "Jump!" every time he stood near the edge of an abyss and looked down. In the end, he would never do it. Never.

_You've seen what your anger is doing to the team. To Gojyo. You've been torturing him deliberately and loving every hurt glance, each slump of his shoulders. _

Yes.

He tolerated Gojyo's juvenile idiocy and Gojyo's loud comebacks and Gojyo's provocative body language, but he would _not_ be toyed with. He might now be an unwilling participant in one of Gojyo's vulgar games, but the rules were still his own. And since Gojyo was too stupid to quit gambling when he was losing, Sanzo obligingly gave him his due. Such as contempt. And sarcasm. And hatred.

Besides… Besides, Gojyo was annoying in his bubbling vitality, but utterly enticing in his subsided misery. With his mouth shut for a change. With his head lowered, casting anxious looks at Sanzo's back. Waiting for a word or a gesture that would warm his heart or crush his soul.

Sanzo always decided on the latter.

_Oh, Buddha, and is this deliberate cruelty really necessary? _

Yes. No. He was not sure of anything anymore. Even his anger, his constant, unfaltering anger, was gone. He felt empty.

And if the worst happened, if he did lose Hakkai and Gojyo to this place…

The idea was too awful to be contemplated. Too hideous. Better to shove it back to its murky depths and let it rot there, to hound his conscience and his nightmares. But wasn't it indeed priceless that he, the highest priest in all Togenkyo, the Gods' Chosen, the Sanzo, had really ended up attached to the demons with whom he had been stuck?

There were steps and hushed voices in the corridor now, and suddenly Hakkai stirred, growling. Sanzo spared him a glance, not sure if Hakkai was indeed waking up or if youkai sharp senses were merely registering the approach of strangers; and when two soldiers carrying lanterns stepped into the room, Sanzo just pulled Hakkai closer, too exhausted physically and emotionally to second-guess anyone's intentions. He recognized the boy who hovered uncertainly between the door and the bunk as being…

"Eng Ho!" grated a nasal voice. "What are you doing? Get out of my way! We're always falling over you."

Sanzo groaned. It was too early to deal with Wu Tai's secretary.

"Sorry, Fei Ru-sama," Eng Ho stuttered, contrite. "I don't know where I should put the light—"

"Yes, yes, of course you don't know. You never do. The lantern _always_ goes _here_. There is a hook for it, see? Even _you_ can remember that from now on, right?" Fei Ru focused his attention on Sanzo. "Now, you. Take your friend and go. Get out of our town and never come near it again."

Sanzo did not allow the surprised relief he felt to surface. "Where's Wu Tai?"

"_Captain_ Wu Tai went home hours ago," Fei Ru bristled. "What, did you think that he would be at your disposal even now?"

"The coward ran away," Hakkai slurred, and Sanzo felt a corner of his mouth twitch up in response. He welcomed Hakkai back with a brief nod, his anxiety level dropping significantly when a glazed green eye peered up at him.

"Watch your tongue when you talk about the captain, youkai lover!" Fei Ru warned heatedly. "You've done enough, don't you think? Maybe I should lock you downstairs for a month, to teach you manners and common sense. It's what you deserve!"

Sanzo swallowed a remark and got up, trying to ignore the painfully cramping muscles and the complaints from a full bladder. At least Wu Tai had had the decency to keep Hakkai's true nature a secret.

"Here, monk." And Fei Ru threw a bundle of folded papers at Sanzo's feet. "The captain told me to give you these."

For a split second, Sanzo dared to believe that Wu Tai had given him a pass for Gojyo or whatever document a youkai needed in this town. The papers on the floor had been in his pockets for far too long not to be immediately identified, though. His own recommendation letters. The ones that high priests and a myriad of so-called authorities had written and signed to help him during his journey. He bent to pick them up, noticing that one corner was wet and tinted a rosy hue. Bloodied water from the basin. Hakkai's blood. "What about my other servant?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

Fei Ru dismissed his entourage with a brusque gesture. "If you're referring to that monster of yours, the creature was transferred to another prison. It's no longer our concern."

"Transferred against Wu Tai's orders," Sanzo replied as he turned to Hakkai and helped him to sit. "It's his responsibility—"

"_Captain_ Wu Tai dealt personally with the situation," Fei Ru said in a low, acid tone. "The insubordinate officer was punished. Not that it is any of your business."

"If you think I'm going to leave this dump without my other servant, you're sorely mistaken." Sanzo tightened his hold on Hakkai and, with an apologetic expression, hoisted him up. Hakkai swayed and leaned heavily on him, but managed to stay upright.

"You foreigners bring nothing but trouble to our land!" Fei Ru accused indignantly. "The captain did you a favor, and you pay him back by disrespecting him in front of his men—"

Sanzo swung Hakkai's left arm over his shoulders. "Oh, really? I suppose that now I should say 'thanks?' I can't fucking believe this!"

"Yet, belief should be a way of life for you, monk," a well-humored voice intruded from the corridor.

The little room seemed to grow smaller as the tall man barged in.

"Fei Ru-sama, do you want me to take care of this?" Zhou Jun proposed. "I can take the garbage out."

The secretary frowned. "Of course _not_. That would be highly irregular! It's _my_ function—"

"We've received a new message from the Colonel. I thought you would want to read it and answer him right away, sir."

"Message? And at this hour!" Fei Ru spared a last rancorous look at Sanzo and headed for the door. "Yes, I have to go. Throw them out, Corporal—"

"Sergeant," Zhou Jun corrected softly, his eyes on Sanzo's. "I'm a sergeant now."

Fei Ru made another impatient gesture and left, still complaining: "I _knew_ that monk was serious trouble the moment he entered my office, I simply knew…"

Zhou Jun sneered. "I knew, too. Unfortunately, old Fei Ru just doesn't appreciate life with a touch of spice." He hooked his thumbs onto his sash and transferred his insolent gaze to appraise Hakkai's body. "Do you collect pretty boys, Servant of Buddha?"

"Come on, Hakkai, let's go," Sanzo exhorted. Hakkai's labored breathing was painful to hear and Sanzo had to support most of his weight, but at least they were moving.

"And where do you think you're going like that, hmm?" Zhou Jun followed their efforts with an amused expression and chortled when Hakkai's knees crumbled. "Whoa there! Are you planning to drag this poor boy through our crowded streets, monk? You'll make quite a pair!"

"Piss off." The furious rebuff was a point in his harasser's favor, and Sanzo knew it. He quickened his pace, dragging Hakkai out of the room.

"Soon, it will be hot enough to fry eggs on the pavement, hon," Zhou Jun said from behind them. "I've heard that sunbathing isn't advisable when one has a head injury."

Sanzo focused on the end of the darkened corridor where he could make out silhouettes outlined against the breaking morning. The irony of the situation was not lost to him: the previous night he had struggled to get to this very hall, then a bright beacon; now he wanted to escape it, with the promising light exactly at the opposite side of the tunnel. And in both circumstances, like a particularly pesky Demon Guardian of Gates, Zhou Jun delayed his steps towards his goal.

"How do you plan to get your missing youkai's papers if you have to take care of this boy?" the taunting voice reached him again. "This one is cute, very cute indeed… But are you willing to give up beautiful Gojyo?"

Sanzo froze. And turned slowly.

Zhou Jun was propped against Wu Tai's closed office door, a smug half-smile in place. _I can take you if you wish, _his lewd comments sounded again in Sanzo's mind, undeterred. _In Captain Wu Tai's office. On Captain Wu Tai's desk. All we'll have to do is wait a little. _"Yes," Zhou Jun drawled. "I, uh, saw Gojyo last night."

The suggestive tone made Sanzo hold his breath.

No.

It was impossible.

But…

Gojyo had spread his legs for that grotesque youkai in the temple.

Gojyo spread his legs for anyone. The whore. The cheap, third-rate whore.

"Sanzo?" Hakkai murmured, squinting up. "What is it?"

Muttering a curse, Sanzo turned his back to Zhou Jun and resumed walking. He knew the drill in these circumstances: don't talk to them; don't supply them with enough energy to keep haunting you.

"Nasty injury Gojyo has on his left arm," Zhou Jun purred. "Hellish to have it … touched."

The sudden halt caused Hakkai to moan aloud.

Zhou Jun raised his eyebrows at Sanzo's Glare and straightened from his slouch, walking past his furious prey with measured laziness. "Come on, hon." He canted his head towards the exit. "Your pretty friend is in no condition to walk. So..." A lecherous smirk. "I'm going to give you a ride."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It was already a beautiful summer morning—he could tell by the sunbeams streaming down through the cracks in the high damaged ceiling. Distracted by the particles of dust dancing in the light, the Colonel took an orange from a basket and, with a contented sigh, sat at his desk. He did not bother to turn when the double doors to the hall were pushed open.

"Good morning, sir," his aide greeted, stepping into the room. "You got up early today; I'm still setting the table for your breakfast."

"Good morning, Luo-san." The Colonel breathed with satisfaction the scent of freshly baked bread that reached him and threw the orange he held upwards. It shone golden when it traversed a perpendicular invasive sunray, then fell back into his waiting hands. "So. Are you going to watch the parades tonight?"

Luo approached him with his loaded tray and began meticulously setting food on the desktop. "No, sir, I definitely won't. And I've already issued a warning: Anyone who arrives tomorrow with a hangover will spend the next six months laboring in our most damaged towers."

The Colonel caught the orange in the air a second time. "Does your warning include me?" he drawled, bending forward to extract a bottle of wine from the compartment under his desk. "Because I intend to enjoy myself today, Luo-san."

"As is your right, sir." Luo took the liquor without showing any criticism and placed the bottle on the desk, near a jug of water. "And I don't believe our men will disregard discipline so blatantly. But it's good to keep things under a tight rein, especially when some officers downhill have lost control over—"

"Our men are different, Luo-san," the Colonel interrupted, amused, seizing the knife that Luo had on his sash. "That's why they're here, with the elite. Is this the knife that you used on the youkai last night?"

"Yes, sir. I've cleaned and sharpened it again."

The Colonel touched the serrated edge of the knife with his index finger. "Pity."

"Sir?" Luo arranged the fruit basket to a more accessible angle then stepped back respectfully.

"Never mind, Luo-san. How many messages has our Head of the Council sent us demanding my presence at tonight's dinner?"

"Five, sir. So far."

The Colonel pressed the blade against the orange, cutting the peel. "Good industrious Xie Dewei is quite desperate, hmm?" he asked softly.

"He's counting on you to present the benefits of modern weaponry and a well-trained force, sir. No one addresses the subject better than you, Colonel. If the foreign authorities need convincing, that is."

"With Xie-san selling them for more than triple he paid for them… Yes, I suppose they will need some convincing." Another cut. Deeper. The juice welled. "It doesn't make it a less tedious obligation. I have things—" He severed the orange into two even halves. "—way more interesting to do today." There was a slight sting on the tip of his index finger, a diminutive injury caused by the blade that only the contact with the acid essence was able to reveal. He smiled.

"I'm sorry for the tedious part, sir," Luo said in his monotonic voice. "But your presence has been confirmed, so I don't think—"

"How is the youkai this morning, Luo-san?"

Luo startled, momentarily losing his composure. "The—? Oh. I—I don't know, sir. Probably raving in its cell."

The Colonel dropped the cut orange and the knife on the desktop and picked up Gojyo's headband, discarded on a pile of papers. He wiped his hands on it, noticing that there was something written there—an interesting detail he had not perceived before: 'Be Happy.' His smile got broader. "So, Luo-san. If you won't drink yourself into oblivion or have fun on the streets, what are you going to do all day?"

"I was thinking about sorting out some reports and other documents, sir. Since the earthquake—"

"This is a rest day. We earned ourselves the right to relax a little."

"Yes, sir. But last winter we needed some accounting reports and I couldn't—"

"Winter? Luo-san, we're celebrating summer today!"

"Indeed, sir." Luo took the empty pitcher of water from the previous night and reached for the cup that had been offered to Gojyo.

"Leave it," the Colonel ordered. Luo immediately dropped his hand. "Is that all, Luo-san? Can I start my holiday now?"

"Er, ah, sir, unfortunately there is something else, sir. Chen Dan is here, making his customary noise. He wants to talk to you."

The Colonel hummed, amused. "Is that so?"

"If I may, sir? Don't receive him. He isn't a member of the force anymore. I told that idiot he had to bring a signed paper to transfer the youkai. I told him that he had already taxed Wu Tai's patience once too often. He _knows _the new rules, and better than anyone since his acts triggered them to begin with, but he simply didn't want to listen. He's like a bull in a china shop."

The Colonel shrugged and began helping himself to the food at his disposition. "Well, nothing new here. Send him in. Give us five minutes then come back and kick him out."

"Yes, sir."

Chen Dan entered the hall carefully, as if afraid of the echo of his own steps.

"Ah, good morning, Chen Dan-san," the Colonel said congenially, inspecting the contents of a large rice bowl. "I won't use your rank because I learned that you were discharged."

Chen Dan stopped halfway to the desk at the imaginary line formed by two iron braziers. "Actually I—"

The Colonel raised a hand, palm up. "Before you start whining, answer a question. What did I say yesterday when you came here?"

"You said—you said that I was losing my career foolishly," Chen Dan murmured. "That I had committed one mistake last year, with those two boys…"

"And?"

"And … and that … you could forgive one mistake. Sometimes. But not two. Never."

"Right. Now you come here to crawl? Honestly, Chen Dan!"

"Colonel, Captain Wu Tai didn't give me any chance to try and explain, sir! He—"

"—was your superior officer," the Colonel finished for him, ripping a hunk of bread from the loaf and biting at it with gusto. "You purposely disobeyed his directives. What did you expect?"

"Nothing from _him_, that's for sure," Chen Dan replied hotly. "He's a youkai lover, Colonel, you should have seen him dealing with those foreigners last night. You might do something about him, about his conduct, because he is—"

"Did you come here to tell me how I should handle my subordinates, Chen Dan-san? Pretty bold for a civilian."

Chen Dan opened his mouth, closed it, scratched his head, frustrated. "No, I… I never… Sir, my apologies. It was not my intention to offend you."

"Believe me, Chen Dan-san, you didn't. You're only amusing me." The Colonel pointed at Chen Dan with his chunk of bread. "Is this a new fashion or are you trying to blend with the rest of us by wearing this pitiful imitation?"

Chen Dan blinked, then looked down. "Ah, the clothes? This is what I always wear, sir, when I'm not—"

"You wear an imitation of our uniform when you are off duty?" The Colonel let out a whistle. "It must be pretty important to you, eh?"

"Yes, sir, it's… It's my life. I have nothing else that matters so much to me, Colonel. Nothing else. So… Please, sir, _please,_ let me sign up with you. I'll be the best man you would ever—"

"Sign up with me? So I will have to worry if my orders will be followed as I see fit?"

"No! I wouldn't do anything to cross you, sir, ever, I give you my word. You are different from Captain Wu Tai, very different. Wu Tai is … is…"

"Weak." The Colonel reached for the wine and cut its seal and stopper with Luo's knife. "Feels too much. Thinks too much." He ignored the clean cup Luo had left for him and took the one from which Gojyo had drunk. "He has something that a good soldier can't have. A conscience."

"I don't have a conscience, sir!"

The Colonel snorted, raising Gojyo's cup in a mock salute. "No, it seems you don't. Otherwise, you wouldn't have brought your mistress' younger brothers here to be killed, right? And all because they made some jokes about your nonexistent monetary contribution to their household?"

Chen Dan paled. "What?" he stuttered, his eyes darting around the hall. "No! I mean… Sir, I—I didn't—"

"Oh, you certainly did. I'm still dealing with the consequences of that shit you dumped on us last year, so you can bet I ordered a detailed investigation." The Colonel pushed his chair backwards and propped his feet on the desk. "Now, conscience isn't a good soldier's only problem, Chen Dan-san. Soldiers can't be so personally involved in whatever they're doing, either." He licked the rim of his cup before sipping his wine. "And you are involved."

"No, I—"

"You hate youkai. That is to be involved. You hate—what do you call them, again? 'Punks?' That is to be involved. My men—the ones I do want to have by my side—don't hate anything or anyone, Chen Dan. Because to hate is to recognize the other as an equal on some level. It's to give them a power they can't have." He looked at the stain on the stone floor between his desk and Chen Dan. And tasted his wine again.

"Colonel, please…"

"You have tried to be transferred here … what? Four times?"

"Six, sir," Chen Dan mumbled.

"Six. This is the seventh time, then. And the answer is still the same as it was always: No."

"Sir, I lost—I lost everything," Chen Dan moaned, all dignity forgotten. "My family… How am I suppose to take care of them if—"

"Why didn't you think of them yesterday?"

"Wu Tai was going to free that thing, Colonel! You know how he is! And I heard that the Council is about to revoke that nonsensical article on having to process youkai through local officers, so I just… Sir, I just wanted to save innocent lives! _Wu Tai_ should be the one punished, not me! I always carried out my duty!"

"I see." The Colonel shifted his attention back to Chen Dan, interested. "The council won't revoke the articles regarding youkai when humans are involved, Chen Dan. Not for a while, anyway. Your stupid prank on your lover's brothers granted its liberal members a lot of space to maneuver. Whoever your source of information is, he's … shall we say, huh, mistaken?"

"What? But I heard…" Chen Dan trailed off, shoulders hunched.

"Yes, I'm sure you did," the Colonel chuckled. "Tell me something. Was this person a subordinate of yours? Was there any chance for him to get a promotion at the expense of your discharge?"

Chen Dan's only answer was a shocked gasp.

A quick knock on the double doors, then Luo entered the hall again, indicating the corridor to Chen Dan with an angry gesture. Chen Dan glanced at the aide and turned his attention back to the Colonel, his frightened eyes still pleading.

"Get out of my face," the Colonel said without raising or changing his calm tone. "And don't come back here. You're a civilian now, and my soldierswill shoot you on the spot next time you barge into our gates."

"Colonel, wait! I—Luo-san, please, let me talk to him!"

Unmoved, the Colonel watched as his lieutenant advanced towards Chen Dan and shoved him out of the hall with much more force than would have been necessary. When the doors were closed again, and the room was once more a huge, empty shell waiting hungrily for the smallest sound, he went to the place where Gojyo had bled and ran his fingertips over a large dark stain. Certainly Luo had emptied buckets of water here, scrubbing the floor with his characteristic diligence. Tears, urine, mucus, saliva… Water erased everything. Except blood.

Blood impregnated the very stone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The morning was already hot when Zhou Jun halted the cart in front of a white-fenced house with a neglected garden. The neighborhood, Sanzo noticed grimly, also seemed to have had better days.

"And here we are!" Zhou Jun announced cheerfully. "What do you think?"

Sanzo ignored the question, shoved away the knee that kept rubbing against his—both he and Hakkai had been made to sit with Zhou Jun on the driver's bench—and tried to assess his teammate's condition. Hakkai was barely conscious after their mercifully short trip.

"How is your boy, Servant of Buddha?" Zhou Jun asked, leaning forward to take a look at Hakkai. "Groggy, eh? You should have propped him between us; it would have been safer for him. Not that I'm complaining." And he caressed Sanzo's thigh before reaching out in Hakkai's direction. "Hey, boy? Can you—" Sanzo slapped Zhou Jun's hand away and Hakkai let out a gasp, startled. "Damn, monk," Zhou Jun scoffed, "be careful with your fidgeting or you're going to throw the pretty one out of the cart!"

Sanzo steadied Hakkai, fuming. "What place is this?" he demanded, not really interested in the answer. All that really mattered now was that they were in the open and in the light.

Zhou Jun snickered and jumped to the paved street, adjusting his uniform. "It's a boarding house," he said—and, with his special inflections, the word sounded like 'whorehouse.' "Nothing fancy, but quite … cozy." He skirted the cart, patting the horse's head when he passed by it, and went to stand by Hakkai's side, extending his arms up to him. "Get down, hon. I'll catch you."

Sanzo pulled Hakkai closer with a jerk. "Fuck off!"

Zhou Jun shrugged. "Okay, okay, no need to ruffle your feathers! I was just offering some assistance to your boy. You're selfish, monk. Didn't Buddha teach you about the wisdom of sharing? I read that somewhere."

Sanzo just glared at the man, hating him.

"Oh, _come on_," Zhou Jun drawled and sauntered to the low wooden fence, leaning unworriedly against it. "I've brought you to an honest place, I swear. It mainly caters to young men who arrive in this town looking for a job. Your friend Eng Ho lives here."

"How reassuring," Sanzo muttered.

Zhou Jun chuckled. "Yeah, indeed. Anyway, it's not much, but you'll be able to come and go as you wish." He gestured to a point over Sanzo's left shoulder. "You'll have to go back _there_ to get Gojyo's papers, hon."

Sanzo did not bother to look, having already spotted the roof of the prison where they had spent the night. He just stared at Zhou Jun, wanting to jump off the cart and punch the crooked teeth deeper into that dirty mouth. If the bastard spoke Gojyo's name one more time, he might very well do that…

"What's wrong, hon?" Zhou Jun asked with pretended innocence. "Do you need my help with the boy, after all?"

Sanzo took a deep breath. The more he showed anger, the more Zhou Jun's satisfaction and boldness would grow. "As you yourself informed your captain, Sergeant," he said in his coolest, aloofest tone, "Gojyo was transferred from that prison."

"Right. Beautiful Gojyo is now in the Anthill. You know, the fortress on the top? The one you won't be able to reach without a pass yourself? But! The office that provides passes and youkai registries in this district is still over there, darling." Zhou Jun yawned dramatically. "Of course you can go back to one of those fancy foreigners' inns. Your decision. Unfortunately, I won't be able to help you and your pretty one." He studied Hakkai again, eyes glinting. "Sorry, but you will have to walk. I've been up the whole night and I have to return this cart before going home. You see, I want to rest to enjoy all this holiday's … delights."

"Sanzo?" Hakkai called weakly. "Is there any water, please?"

A muscle twitched in Sanzo's jaw. In the house, an old man had poked his head through a window and watched them with a scowl.

"Oh, are you thirsty, boy?" Zhou Jun piped in, smiling. "No wonder, being injured and exposed to this sun. Don't worry; they'll have water inside and a room for you to rest."

Hakkai squinted at Zhou Jun, clearly confused.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Sergeant Zhou Jun." And Zhou Jun detached himself from the fence to bow. "Your monk here doesn't have any manners, so he didn't want to introduce us. But I know you're Hakkai."

Sanzo sent Zhou Jun another furious look, then, with difficulty, maneuvered Hakkai to the ground. Zhou Jun cheered patronizingly when Hakkai managed to stand on his own and turned around to greet the old man who now crossed the front garden in their direction. "Wang-sama!" he boomed, grinning. "Good morning! It's already a lovely day, don't you think? Lovely day! And it'll be even better, because I've brought you new guests!"

The old man ignored the effusive blather, his beady eyes very intent on Hakkai.

"As you can see this poor boy was hurt, Wang-sama," Zhou Jun continued. "Can you please help him to the house and give him some water? I have a … er, particular issue to discuss with this monk. It won't take long."

Without uttering a single word, the old man advanced and seized Hakkai by his right arm. Hakkai stared aghast at the crooked fingers on his arm and tried to step back. "Sanzo? Sanzo, I—"

"Go," Sanzo commanded tersely. "I'll meet you in a few."

"But…"

"_Go_."

In no condition to argue, Hakkai started moving. He stumbled once and the old man pulled him upright with a vicious curse. Sanzo walked over to the fence and rested his hands on the top rail, eyes following Hakkai's progress. Zhou Jun came to stand by him, chuckling appraisingly. "So cute! You have excellent taste, hon."

Sanzo relaxed a bit when Hakkai disappeared into the house. "Okay, you fucker," he said in a low, controlled voice, without bothering to look at Zhou Jun. "What do you want?"

"Temper, temper, Sanzo," Zhou Jun teased. "May I call you Sanzo? And you may keep calling me 'fucker.'" A chuckle. "Now put two and two together; can you really say that you don't know what this 'fucker' wants, Sanzo? I thought it was clear since the first time we met."

"I'm not interested," Sanzo answered. "You're not my type."

"No, I suppose not. Your type is slim young boys, right? Like pretty Hakkai. Like Gojyo."

"Take your mind out of the gutter, you son of a bitch. Those men are merely my servants. I'm on a holy mission—"

"Yeah, blah, blah, blah. I've heard your story around." Zhou Jun casually dropped one arm around Sanzo's shoulders. "Look. I'm not your enemy here. I have nothing against any of you. Quite the contrary! As I told you, I, huh, saw your Gojyo yesterday. And I don't want him dead; such a beautiful young thing! I'm not like these blind, crazed zealots."

"No," Sanzo countered. "You aren't only a killer, are you? You're also a molester."

"I won't risk my career for nothing, hon. And if I help you I'll be risking it. There must be something for me in the end, _ne_?" Zhou Jun blew Sanzo's hair out of his face. "Some kind of … prize."

Sanzo tightened his grip on the fence. "You weren't a sergeant last night," he muttered. "For someone who can lose everything so easily you're doing remarkably well."

"One more reason to help you! I owe Gojyo, in a certain way. I got my promotion thanks to him, after all."

"You are despicable."

"And you are irresistible." Zhou Jun moved closer and plunged his nose into Sanzo's hair, inhaling deeply. "Do you want to feel what you do to me? Hmmm? Do you?" He rubbed his erection against Sanzo's buttocks. "This is all for you. All for you, hon."

"Get. Off. Me," Sanzo growled, the wooden rail cracking under his nails.

Panting, Zhou Jun rested his head on Sanzo's shoulder. "'Get off on me?' Bet your ass, I do, love."

The horse whinnied and stamped once, growing nervous.

"Shit, I do have to go," Zhou Jun rasped. "I didn't have permission to borrow one of our carts."

"I hope Wu Tai demotes you to his official latrine cleaner," Sanzo said, quite aware that his childish rebuke would just wind up his opponent further.

Zhou Jun snorted, then touched Sanzo's neck with his lips. "It isn't Wu Tai I'm worried about, hon. It's his secretary." A sigh. "Now, listen to me. Today our offices will be closed, so we won't be able to do anything for beautiful Gojyo. So, take a bath. Rest. Pamper Hakkai, because he certainly needs attention. Then… Let's have some fun, you and me." He nipped at Sanzo's unshaved jaw. "And if you're good to me … accommodating… I will go with you wherever you want to go tomorrow. I'll use my influence as an officer to assist you in any way I can. And tomorrow night, at this hour … you'll not only have your Gojyo back but you'll be on your way again, to fulfill your 'holy mission.' I give you my word."

"Do you think your word is worth anything to me?" Sanzo's voice was very strained.

"Whatever." A last lick and Zhou Jun disentangled himself. "Tell old Wang that you'll have a separate room. Unless you want to add cute Hakkai to our, uh, deal." He smirked when Sanzo glowered at him. "No? Pity. I will, well, come later."

Sanzo heard him climbing back in the vehicle, but the man would not do him the favor of shutting up and just going away.

"Sorry, hon, but you're stuck with me. And don't start having funny ideas, like giving me the brush-off." The cart was maneuvered in a u-turn and halted again in front of the house. "Because… I would just go and have my way with your redhead up there. Up his. No one would care."

Sanzo whirled around, mouth twisted in anger.

Zhou Jun laughed, giddily. "And there's also pretty Hakkai," he said, nodding at the house. "I don't want to have to take pretty Hakkai back to the station and to his cell, but a youkai lover can find himself in many problematic situations in our respectable town."

"Leave him out of this," Sanzo ordered through gritted teeth. "Leave both of them out of this."

"Why, all right, Sanzo. I agree. 'This' is between you and me, after all. Right? You and me." Zhou Jun offered a salute. "You know something, Servant of Buddha? I feel like I have youkai blood myself. Because I look at you and all I want to do is devour you whole." He snapped the reins and the cart pulled away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Gojyo frowned, trying to focus, as he drifted among strange, half-formed nightmarish images. There! There it was again. The noise. An annoying sound that had been disturbing his rest for a while now, calling him back from sleep. He rolled onto his side, raising his hands to his ears, ready to plunge again into darkness, when pain woke him completely. 

_My arm!_

He tried to sit up, gritting his teeth. "Hakkai?" he moaned pitifully. "My arm…"

No answer.

A terrible disquiet set upon him, making him shiver. Something had happened—something bad. He flinched, not wanting to think about it, not wanting to remember. The intrusive sound grew louder and more desperate, and only then did he realize that it was coming from his own throat: continuous, broken, nerve-wracking whimpers. His mouth did not acknowledge the order from his brain to stop, so he put his right hand between his teeth and bit into it, hard, to shut himself up. The ghastly events from the previous night finally began to take shape in his mind, then to tower over him, threatening to collapse and crush him under their weight. He had not been dreaming. It had…

It had been real.

For a moment he had an overwhelming urge to scream, to rave, to demand from the gods an explanation for such an infamy. But all he could do was open his eyes and stare blindly ahead while pain kept hammering its merciless nails. Rising onto his knees, he touched the new gash on his bad arm. The cut had bled profusely—there was a large stain on the straw where he had been dumped—but someone had improvised a tourniquet. So, apparently they did not want him dead. Yet.

"Are you awake, half-breed?"

Gojyo turned in the direction of the voice, startled. The abrupt movement caused him to topple over and hit his head on the straw covered floor. "Fuck," he groaned, scrunching his eyes shut.

"You made a lot of noise all night long," continued the male voice. "We thought you were dying."

We?

Carefully, Gojyo sat up and began an inventory of his surroundings. The cell he was in, much bigger than the claustrophobic hole he had shared with Hakkai, consisted of three stone walls and a barred side. There was light—daylight—and air enough, though no water in sight or buckets for bodily functions. The stench was intolerable.

He froze for a moment, then lowered his head, humiliated.

_Yeah, that's right, _taunted a whisper in the back of his mind. _You pissed yourself last night. _

Gods. His body was failing him constantly these days. With its cravings. With its weaknesses. Gojyo let out the breath he had been holding, decided not to dwell on the incident. _They should be ashamed, not me. Them. The cowards. Not me. _

And he knew that he could keep saying that to himself, over and over and over; it would make no difference in the end.

Also, there was still another issue to be considered, more serious than his trampled pride. Something he had sensed when dragged through the dark corridors of this particular hell, and which had taken a definitive, terrorizing shape after the episode with the knife. Had he lost control of his bladder in front of 'Bully-san,' he would have been laughed at and taunted with jokes; infuriating, of course, but at least those thugs would be treating him as a creature able to understand speech and properly react to scorn. His brain, his _sentient being brain,_ would have to play an essential part in the process of his own debasement. _These_ men, though… They did not laugh or point out to him that he had behaved like a cornered beast. It was like they did not expect anything else from him. And that was truly, thoroughly frightening. Sanzo had called him a nothing, but Sanzo was still reacting to him in some way. Here he _was_ nothing.

He tried to make a fist with his left hand. The whole arm was hot and swollen and even the smallest movement caused excruciating pain. If it had not been already permanently damaged…

_Well, guess what, Gojyo, my pal? It is now!_

"Hey, half-breed!" That booming voice again. "Hey! What's wrong with you?"

Gojyo suppressed an absurd, hysterical need to giggle and shakily got to his feet. He shuffled towards the bars, his bad arm hanging at his side like a dead thing. There was another cell across from his, an almost identical cage. A massive youkai stood there, outlined by the light that streamed down from a high slot behind him. And … there were flies. Attracted by the filthiness, flies invaded the area through this opening.

"I—I'm Gojyo," he croaked, grabbing the bars with his good hand for support. "Who are you?"

"You're a foreigner, right?" the man asked, scratching his beard. "There are no half-breeds in this area. You're the first I've seen in decades. Did you come here via the main road?"

"What?"

"The main road, half-breed. Did you take it to get here?"

"Yeah, I—"

A shadow moved in a corner, then a teenaged boy limped to the man. He was followed by a little girl, her gay flowery dress only a mockery in the dreariness of their cell.

"Were you coming from the east or from the west?" The big youkai insisted, excited.

"Huh? Oh. East. We were going to—"

"Did you see an abandoned wagon on your way here? A large wooden wagon?"

"No." Gojyo stared at the family, for that was what they undoubtedly were. The three had slanted red eyes and brownish coarse hair, faces protruding into what could pass for a muzzle. Lowly youkai—the kind that suffered prejudice even from other demons, and who tended to lose every particle of rational thought when infected by the Madness. "But I was asleep. My friends may have seen—"

"Yes, yes," the man interrupted him again. "Are they coming? Your friends? To free you? And us?"

Gojyo gaped at him, the answer suddenly evading him. "They will come," he muttered hesitantly after a while. "Yes."

The man nodded, relieved, and brushed the girl's hair. "I'm Kaige; these are my children. We were trying to go east when horsemen carrying guns surrounded our wagon. They shot our dog dead and I thought they were going to do the same to us. I had heard about this town's force, of course, but we were on the road…" Kaige grimaced, rested his arms on his children's shoulders and pulled them closer. "They beat us, those humans, even my daughter, this child, even her. May the bastards be reborn as worms in their next lives! Worms, for they are nothing else even now!"

Gojyo licked his cracked lips and shooed a fly. "You mean… They hunted you down on the road?"

"They found us, half-breed, that's what I'm telling you. I didn't want trouble, I know how they treat youkai here, I heard the stories. But the main road was the only route we could take without stumbling onto a lynching mob! Things were getting ugly in the area where we lived." Kaige lifted a shaking hand to hide his face. "My house was burned a few days ago, along with almost everything we had." The plaintive words were muffled by the dirty fingers. "We were just trying to go east, that's all." The boy retreated back to his corner, face expressionless, as the girl looked at the floor, indifferent to the flies buzzing around her. "Now, look at us! Locked up like animals without food or water! And we did nothing wrong! We were going away!"

It was so difficult to keep standing… Gojyo desperately fought the urge to sit. Their cell was a mess of bodily waste, and he wanted to put some distance between his injury and the greedy flies. "How … how long have you been here, Kaige-san?"

Kaige turned his head to look at the small window behind him. It showed a taunting piece of pure blue sky. "Today is our third day."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Sanzo shut the front door and propped his back against it for a moment. Filthy. He felt so filthy… His skin crawled where Zhou Jun's saliva and sweat had touched it. He hesitantly raised a hand to wipe his neck—he did not want more contact with any of that bastard's fluids—then startled when he found a pair of eyes glaring at him from a darkened corner. The old man who had helped Hakkai into the house crouched in the shadows, very still, his lined face frozen in a scowl.

"Where is my servant?" Sanzo demanded, straightening himself.

Silence. But the hatred in those eyes…

"I asked you a question," Sanzo pressed impatiently.

And there was no answer.

Something snapped inside him and Sanzo advanced on the man, growling like a wild beast. A mad idea about him losing Hakkai once more to this maze—about him having to go after Hakkai again and again and again, only to have his teammate snatched away each time—clouded any rational thought. He grabbed fistfuls of the old man's threadbare shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"I asked you a question!" he hissed. "Did you hear me?" A violent shake. "Where is my servant?"

"In the yard!" the old man spat, furious. "Your demon is in the yard!" Sanzo released him and stepped back, shocked both by the answer and his own loss of control. Someone rushed into the room and the old man crouched again, his empty mouth twisted in a smirk. "Oh, yes, foreigner," he drawled malignly, "I know very well what your 'servant' is! What _it _is! I would be able to tell with closed eyes! I can _smell _them! I was the best in my time!"

"Uncle?" a whiny male voice intruded. "What is it? Do we have new guests?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, old man," Sanzo said coldly.

"Me neither, sir, please, forgive him," the whiny voice concurred and Sanzo felt a tug on his robe. He turned, very irritated, and a middle-aged man backed off quickly, bowing low. "I'm Wang Po, sir, and this is my great-uncle. He isn't the right person to answer the door, but I didn't hear you knocking. Do you need a room? It's always an honor to receive a new guest in our humble boardinghouse."

"That's right, you useless cunt," the old man said from his corner. "Lick this youkai lover's boots."

Wang Po's cordial expression flickered almost imperceptibly at the insult. "Uncle was in our force for many years, sir, and he's quite a legend here," he explained to Sanzo. "Maybe you have heard of Major Wang Ushi? No? Old age has made him … confused, though."

"Confused?" the old major repeated with irony. "You have the guts to say that _I _amthe confused one?"

Sanzo took a deep breath. Hadn't that clerk warned him about soldiers and elders? Just their luck, to be stranded now with a raving combination of both.

"So, are you here for the Festival, sir?" Wang Po asked, a fake smile plastered on his round face. "Aren't there any available rooms in the regular inns? I heard this is going to be one of the best years ever, our town is swarming with visitors."

"Let's talk later, all right?" Sanzo rummaged through his inner pocket and dropped the first coin his fingers fished out into Wang Po's palm. From the gleeful squeak he had as an answer, it was one of the gold ones. "I have a sick servant in the yard. Can you give us something light to eat? And water?"

"Yes, yes, of course, sir!" Wang Po agreed excitedly. "And there is water in the yard, sir, plenty! For baths… For washing clothes… I can wash your clothes, of course! Just go there—" He pointed to a passageway and rushed to the front door. "Where is your luggage, sir? I'll pick it up for you, of course!"

"This man's 'servant' is a youkai, you idiot!" Wang Ushi snarled, his tone still more vicious. "They were brought here by that deviant, Zhou Jun. Which means they have another youkai in trouble somewhere. Probably in the Anthill."

"Uncle! Show some respect—"

"You show some respect, scum! This house is mine! Now you welcome youkai and youkai lovers here? Zhou Jun is after this monk's ass, you know. How many times has he already done that? And I bet our 'guest' is going to accept the offer. Aren't you, pretty boy? You'll try to save the monster those incompetents managed to catch, only Buddha knows how, by whoring yourself."

Livid, Sanzo stepped towards Wang Ushi—who laughed and invited the attack with an obscene gesture.

"Please, sir, don't!" Wang Po pleaded half-heartedly from the door. "I know uncle can be very offensive, but he's not to be taken seriously."

Sanzo unclenched his fists, panting. "Then keep him away from us."

Wang Po nodded, disappointed. It seemed that he, too, wanted to see the old man's mouth being shut by a fist.

Sanzo strode to the passageway, reached the kitchen and, from it, gained access to the backyard—a grassed, neglected area, protected by a high wall. There were a few trees around, men's clothes hanging from a rope to dry, a washtub near a shed or bathroom, and a well. Hakkai sat by the latter, barefoot and naked from his waist up, lifting a ladle from a bucket. His hand shook so badly that most of the water spilled down his chest. Sanzo went to him, thinking of a similar scene he had witnessed the morning before. At the time he had been pacing the grounds of the Temple of the Soul's Retreat, Gojyo's erotic dance replaying over and over in his head, maddening him with a mixture of anger and desire. Then he had seen Hakkai at the well. Hakkai, unaware of any trouble, filling their water bottles. Hakkai, staring rapturously at the sunlight on the water, face peaceful, his serene aura calming Sanzo just by _being there._

Hakkai's face was a mess now.

"Here, let me do that for you." Sanzo took the ladle, dipped it into the bucket and offered it. "Drink."

Hakkai did, his hands crossed on his chest as if he was cold or ashamed. Sanzo waited until he had drunk his fill, took a few sips himself and dropped the ladle. "Bath?" he muttered, also uncomfortable. At Hakkai's nod, he grabbed the bucket and carefully poured water over the youkai.

"Thank you," Hakkai murmured, pushing back his dripping hair.

"There's soap on the washtub, sir!" Wang Po butted in from the kitchen door.

Sanzo dispatched the man back to the house with a glare and went to search for soap, stopping to urinate at a tree. Living mainly on the road as they did, there was neither finicality when the issue was an ordinary bodily function nor shyness when they had to tend to personal hygiene—at least on the part of Goku and Gojyo. By nature, both himself and Hakkai were much more reserved and tried to maintain their personal standards. So, he barely managed to bite back a grunt of sympathy when he returned with the soap to a blushing, miserable-looking Hakkai: in no condition to seek a more adequate place, Hakkai had unbuttoned his pants and relieved his bladder where he was.

"It's all right; I'll wash it," Sanzo mumbled and handed over the bar of cheap soap. He then adjusted the pulley rope attached to the bucket and lowered it for more water. The 'well,' he noticed, was a rather deep drum buried in the ground—enough to supply these people for months, perhaps, but still a limited, crude solution. Sooner or later some unfortunate soul would have to toil to fill it again. But it made sense; they were on a hill, after all… A hill on the fringes of a desert… Suddenly the infinite small harassments of owning a house seemed too much even for him, who had never worried about such mundane things from the perch of his high position in Chang'an. "Holy shit, who fucking cares?"

Only when Hakkai gasped a "What?," did Sanzo realize that he had spoken aloud.

"Sanzo? Are you—"

"—bone tired?" Sanzo interrupted tightly. "Yeah. Bath."

"I've already finished. We can't lose time, you know."

"I know." Sanzo pulled the full bucket out and sat on the grass, resting his chin on his knees. Had Hakkai really _whined_? A childish, Goku-like whine? "Use the soap."

"Why can't we go—"

Sanzo looked at Hakkai. "_I_ will go. In a few."

"We can't waste time! Gojyo—"

"Hakkai. Just give me a minute to breathe, okay?"

Hakkai grimaced and Sanzo blinked, surprised. Had Hakkai really _chewed_ his lips? A self-harming, Gojyo-like chewing?

"I—sorry, Sanzo…"

Sanzo grunted and closed his eyes to avoid more talking. Fuck, Zhou Jun might have handed him a trump card to bluff and bargain his way past Gojyo's cell door, but still here he was, getting sidetracked and flustered like a complete idiot.

A soft rustle was proof that Hakkai had finally taken off his sodden pants.

_Good. Now, concentrate! _

Sanzo gritted his teeth. On the road, Hakkai was always so careful when he bathed, so … prude. How many times had he seen Hakkai naked? Just once and just a glimpse…

_All right. That's enough! _

With effort, he conjured Major Wang's brief interaction with Zhou Jun, as well as the old man's delayed reaction in the house. Soon, feeling relieved, he settled in the middle of his inner maelstrom and started analyzing words and facial expressions. Chaotic images and swirling feelings progressively slowed down as his mind weighed options, devised possibilities, projected attacks and counterattacks. Centering himself, the _go _master planned.

"Where is Goku?"

The hesitant whisper intruded the process, shattering it. Sanzo turned to Hakkai, ready to lash out. And froze.

Hakkai sat huddled beside him, pale and perfect. And though alluring, it was not his nakedness that sent a jolt between Sanzo's legs. What undid him was the vulnerability in Hakkai's bruised face.

Of his three demons, Hakkai was the only one who never really surrendered any kind of control—he stood on his own, always polite, always composed, a self-possessed and self-sufficient enigma who interacted with Sanzo as an equal. Now, Sanzo could see what was hidden behind a thousand locked doors. Only a boy. Pushy. Scared. Lost.

Human.

Sanzo swallowed the lump in his throat. _Don't go there! Don't you dare go there! _

He would not. He absolutely would not.

But if he wanted…

If he really wanted…

He was sure he would be able to play Hakkai like he played Gojyo. And he would have in his hands a finer, subtler, much more refined instrument, capable of meeting all his virtuoso demands without pitifully breaking apart. The idea of that velvety voice cursing or calling his name longingly just because he, Sanzo, had touched the right nerve was intoxicating.

"Sanzo? I asked you where Goku is."

And Sanzo now recognized one of his own traits in Hakkai: impatience.

"I've told you that already," he answered, voice strained.

Hakkai squinted at him and caught a drop of water with the tip of his tongue. "Have you?"

"I sent him away," Sanzo rasped. "With Hakuryu. Remember?" Of their own volition, his fingers encircled Hakkai's right ankle and raised the captured foot in the air, exposing him further. Those eyes… One peered at him, a gamut of emotions behind green that the summer day made more vivid. The other… The other was dead.

"Water and light," Hakkai murmured.

"What?" Sanzo shortened the distance between them, sheltering Hakkai in his shadow. There was something unbelievably erotic in holding such a powerful, complex creature like this. "What did you say?"

Hakkai shrugged, embarrassed. "Nothing. It's—nothing."

Both were very close now, though their only point of contact was still Sanzo's tight grip.

"Sanzo?"

"Yes?" Sanzo had his head just above Hakkai's left shoulder, his eyes on a vine that exploded in yellow blossoms on the brick wall.

"We must go." Hakkai sighed. "Gojyo—"

"Yes."

"The old man knows what I am."

"Yes." Sanzo closed his eyes for a moment, indulging in his 'cute' one's presence.

If only…

If…

He knew he would never, ever hurt Hakkai like he hurt Gojyo.

He liked Hakkai too much.

"I wish it were you," he whispered, desperate. "This desire. This … fever. I wish it were you. Not _him_. You."

"Sanzo?" And the warm breath touched Sanzo's ear. "I… We—"

"Don't, Hakkai." _Please. _

He released his grasp and rose, adjusting his wet robe. Wang Po was at the kitchen door again, watching them with his eyes and mouth wide open.

"We need towels, Wang Po-san," Sanzo snapped. "And food."

Wang Po hesitated for a moment, then scurried into the house.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

A circle. And five straight lines radiating outward.

The little girl kept drawing that same figure in the air.

Over and over and over.

Huddled in a corner, Gojyo followed her repetitive movements until he understood their logic: she was reproducing the daisies on her dress.

He averted his eyes, tried and failed to bend his bad arm, stretched his legs, brought them back to his chest, and glanced at her again.

A circle…

…and five straight lines radiating outward…

He wiped a drop of sweat off his chin.

It had grown stuffier. He could feel the merciless sun already searing the world outside, though the slot in the back wall of Kaige's cell showed only a strip of blue sky. A perfect, pure blue sky. His own cell had no external opening, a bizarre advantage given the circumstances. Theirs let in the flies.

The damned things were everywhere.

Gojyo had taken off the remains of his shirt, wrapping his injury as best he could to protect the gash from their rapacious probes; had even removed and hidden the bloodied straw into a far corner. It was not enough, though. Their dance and infectious contact was driving him mad—and the hot, still air only made them more active and eager in their incursions.

_Fuck, Sanzo, where are you? _

His eyes trailed off to the child again:

A circle…

…and five straight lines radiating outward…

Gods!

"Hey, Kaige! Kaige-san!" His voice was raspy, brittle, desperate.

"What do you want, half-breed?" Kaige stood sagged against the iron bars of his cell, squinting at the corridor. According to him, there was a door there, though Gojyo could not see it and remembered nothing of his trip to this place.

"Why do they hate us so much?" Gojyo asked in the same hopeless tone. Not that the answer mattered—he just wanted to fill the silence with something other than the torturous buzzing of the flies.

Kaige spared him a scornful look. "_Us_, half-breed? Do you consider yourself one of _us_? Because I certainly don't."

Unable to shrug, Gojyo contorted his mouth. "Yet here we are, aren't we? Sharing the same pit in the same hell?"

"I thought things couldn't get worse, but yeah, here _we_ are…" Kaige scratched his chest and turned his attention back to the corridor. "…stuck with a half-breed."

Gojyo opened his mouth to deliver a witty answer. Then realized he had none. He risked another glance in the girl's direction.

A circle…

…and five straight lines radiating outward…

Shit, he really, really needed a cigarette right now.

"This land," Kaige said after a pause, intent on the door that only he could see, "was youkai territory. Then the humans came and pushed us to the barren outskirts. Afterwards they wanted that, too. My family ended up on a farm way to the west when the main road was built. I also worked on that cursed thing, by the way. That was, uh, some sixty years ago. Youkai labor was always cheap in this area."

"So the whole issue revolves around possessions?" Gojyo rode a particularly sharp pang in his arm resisting the temptation to sink his teeth into his lower lip. "Of what belongs to whom?"

"I suppose it began like that, with them inventing excuses to take over what was ours. Who cares, _ne_? Whatever the reason, do you think there is justification for this?"

"No, Kaige-san," Gojyo said, willing his eyes not to stray back to the little girl. "Nothing can justify _this_."

"We bother them because we exist," Kaige summarized in an emphatic tone. He ineffectively tried to rattle his bars—bars he would break like kindling if he were Changed—and slid down to his knees.

Gojyo sighed and rested his head against the wall. _Right. And I bother you because I exist, and I bother them because I exist, and Sanzo won't bother himself to come and grant my continued existence. _

Fuck, but his arm was killing him! And he felt so tired … so completely drained. Even the smallest movement seemed to demand an absurd amount of energy. The urge to curl up on the floor and try to sleep again was overwhelming.

"So, Kaige-san," he called, watching the fly that now explored his right boot, "you just had enough and decided to go away?"

"Things were never easy for us, half-breed, but last winter… Last winter life became simply impossible." There was the noise of vigorous scratching and Gojyo looked at the man. Kaige was continuously clawing at himself like a mangy dog. The flitting thought caused his stomach to churn. The straw litter certainly had bugs in it, such as fleas and ticks. Such as … lice.

With a jolt, Gojyo straightened his back and gathered his hair with his good hand.

"The humans decided that they wouldn't buy from youkai farmers or sell to us any more," Kaige was saying, oblivious to Gojyo's discomfort. "We almost starved. Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up one morning to find all my chickens dead? Poisoned. The same happened to other youkai families. A friend's brother was beaten to death, accused of killing and _eating_ a local human girl—the girl who, everybody knew, had eloped with her boyfriend. Can you believe this, half-breed? They now say that youkai feast on humans."

"Some are doing that, Kaige-san," Gojyo mumbled, eyeing suspiciously the straw around him. "Some are doing exactly that."

"You're making this up," Kaige answered, raising to his feet and going to sit by his son. "You're one of _them_, after all; you're with _them_."

Gojyo snorted and pulled himself to his knees with difficulty, trying to increase the distance between the straw and his head. He knew he was overreacting, and in a ridiculous manner no less; he had far more serious issues to worry about at the moment. But his hair! His tabooed, pariah's hair… From a sign of unspeakable shame to this long mass—his way of gaining some sort of control over his life and blowing the world a raspberry—his hair had always defined and isolated him into a special category. In a very real sense, it had shaped him into what he was now.

A memory, and not a particularly good one, suddenly emerged. Of himself, then only a small child, cutting his hair and covering the mess with a kerchief. Of his stepmother, ripping the blue cloth off his head as soon as she had come back home. _You know_, she had said, raking her sharp nails on his scalp, _this filth sprouts from inside you, boy. You can cut it, you can hide it, but it will grow again. _

Gojyo released his hair and settled back on the straw, chuckling. _Yeah, it's true. Thanks, 'mom!' I feel better now._

He focused once more on the slice of sky, letting his mind drift to one of his favorite images: Sanzo, watching the daybreak with his head tilted up, his whole body poised as if to take off in glorious flight.

Sanzo…

Gojyo clicked his tongue. Every time he thought of Sanzo, he had to think of sunlight, and of all things good and clear. He had become an infatuated fool, hadn't he? A stupid half-demon, purposely idolizing a priest who despised him. But … who cared? So what if he did not have the right to raise his greedy eyes to the brightness? This feeling was his and his alone. A source of awe that he accepted without questioning its mystery. Sanzo had nothing to do with anything. Not really.

_I screamed for him last night. _

But then he had been screaming for Sanzo since he had noticed those eyes taking in his body and promising … sunlight.

He felt the weight of another's scrutiny now. Sitting right across from him, yet a world away, the little girl studied him with a baffled expression. Gojyo smiled at her, lifted his good hand and, having the slice of blue sky as his canvas, started drawing:

A circle.

And five straight lines radiating outward.

Sanzo.

_My sun. _

She let out a gasp, then a shy giggle, and Gojyo congratulated himself. Ah, well. He really was irresistible to the ladies, no matter their age.

"If my wagon is still on the road," Kaige said, "maybe someone will see it and come here to check what happened. _Ne?_" The mute entreaty—_Say Yes!_—hung in the stifling air, mocked by the buzzing of the flies. "And your friends… They'll come today. Won't they?"

_Say yes! _

"I—" Suddenly, Gojyo was aware of his mauled body again, and his mauled soul. All his pains and sorrows shrouded him, burdening him so much that he slid further down the wall, crushed by their terrible reality. "I don't know," he murmured.

A loud clang and the sound of footfalls put an end to their conversation. Kaige and the boy jumped to their feet as Gojyo struggled to do the same. He swore when the human who had presided over his session of torture stepped into the corridor between the two cells, a bottle of liquor in one hand.

The man looked at him and smiled. "Good morning, Gojyo. How nice to see that you've fully recovered from our … interview."

Gojyo ignored the bait. "Why are you keeping children here, you crazy fuck?" he demanded.

"Manners, demon," came the cheerful reply. "I'm treating you with civility and I expect the same courtesy."

"Shove your manners," Gojyo snarled. "Why—"

"All of you were brought here to be executed," the man interrupted, his cultured voice even and pleasant. He could be commenting on the weather. "You, Gojyo, will die tomorrow; the children… Lieutenant Luo!" he called, without taking his eyes off his prisoner. "Tell me the deadline for Gojyo's children."

"Their deadline has expired already, Colonel," Luo answered from the passage Gojyo could not see. "This very morning, sir."

"Deadlines? Executions?" Kaige stuttered, grabbing his bars with unsteady hands. "But we were going away! We—"

"And why are they still here?" the Colonel continued, without paying Kaige any attention.

"Because of the holiday, sir." Luo advanced a few steps into the corridor. "The cleaning team will not be here until tomorrow and we postpone executions on such occasions."

"Ah! You see, Gojyo, I don't deal with such technicalities. I have my trustful aide to do it for me." The Colonel took a gulp from his bottle. "Though there was no need for him to follow me around; I do know where our cells are."

"I was concerned with your safety, sir" Luo said hastily. "I was not trying to intrude—"

"That wasn't a reprimand, Luo-san. Relax! Here." And the Colonel threw his bottle to Luo, who caught it in the air. "You know, Gojyo, I have heard of your group. Three demons—or, more specifically, two demons and a half—tagging along with a high-ranked monk. There is also a dragon, holy scriptures and one of _these_ in the equation." And he drew his gun.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gojyo muttered.

"No? You're half-youkai. _The_ half-youkai. Don't bother to deny, your coloring is unmistakable. And why would a half-demon call for a Sanzo in an hour of difficulty?"

"I thought I was going to die and wanted some hotshot's prayers; that's all."

The Colonel laughed aloud—a genuine, uproarious laugh that went on for some while. Then he turned around and fired his weapon. A well-aimed bullet caught the little girl right in her forehead. Gojyo launched himself against his bars, as Kaige and his son started running in wild circles within their cell, yelling incoherently.

"I won't tolerate lies, Gojyo," the Colonel said over the noise. "Even the funny ones. Do you remember what I told you last night? Every time I ask you a question, you'll answer me straight out."

"_You fucking son of a bitch!_" Gojyo roared, shaking with fury and shock. "I'm going to kill you myself! _I'm going to fucking kill you!_"

The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Your vocabulary is repetitive and not very inspiring, demon. Now. Why did you call for 'Sanzo' last night?"

"Go rot in hell, motherfucker!"

A corner of the Colonel's mouth quirked up when he slowly lifted his gun, once more taking aim at Kaige's cell.

"_No!_" Gojyo howled. "Stop! What are you—"

The bullet hit the boy's chest, sending him down on the opposite side from his sister. Past any other reaction, Kaige stood in the middle of the carnage, sobbing.

"Why?" Gojyo scrunched his eyes shut. This… This could not be true. This was a nightmare, and he wanted to wake up. Please, gods, please, he just wanted to _wake up now!_

From under the curtain of his hair, he looked at her bloodied body.

Daisies.

She had been drawing daisies.

"Last chance, Gojyo. Why did you call for Sanzo last night?"

_That_ voice again. That sarcastic voice…

…and Kaige's desperate wails.

"He helps me to get out of trouble," Gojyo managed to choke out.

How could… How! She had been drawing _fucking daisies! _

"A human priest caring for a half-demon!" the Colonel interjected. "Touching! I wonder if the tag 'youkai lover' doesn't apply literally in your case."

Gojyo awkwardly wiped his face. Sweat. It had to be sweat. He was not going to give this fiend the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, beast," the Colonel ordered and Gojyo raised his eyes. "Good. You can learn, though you're a slow one. Now, you and this Sanzo—"

"He despises me," Gojyo spat, glaring at the man. He had never hated anyone, human or youkai, with such intensity before. "We have nothing."

"But certainly you are willing, aren't you?" the Colonel teased with a smirk. "A youkai wouldn't let pass up an opportunity to screw around. And you strike me as the whorish type. Am I not right?"

Gojyo cringed, nauseated. "No."

"No," the Colonel repeated, as if considering the answer. "Okay. But is it a 'No, I don't bend for the human monk' or a 'No, I'm not a whore?'"

"No for both!" Gojyo growled, clasping his left shoulder with his good hand. He had reopened the gash with his frantic movements. The gash this monster had ordered to be sawed into his arm.

And if Kaige did not stop this noise now, he himself would kill the bastard.

Gods, that little girl…

"You keep lying to me, Gojyo," the Colonel remarked, his tone casual. "I suppose you can't avoid it. After all, filth sprouts from inside you."

Gojyo froze. How could his enemy know those words? It could not be merely a coincidence, could it? Then, as the gun was tauntingly waved before his eyes, he registered his mistake. "I—wait…" he whispered. "Don't…"

"You were warned, Gojyo," the Colonel purred.

"I—I'm sorry. Please? It's my fault…"

"Yes. It is your fault."

A thunderous explosion.

Kaige fell, convulsing and gurgling.

"That one will take a long while, Gojyo," the Colonel commented calmly. "I got it right in its stomach."

"Please," Gojyo murmured, crumpling to his knees.

"Please what, little demon?"

"…don't…"

"Oh, but I already did, Gojyo. Should I finish that thing? Once and for all? Is that what you want?"

Gojyo gaped up, the Colonel's amused face coming in and out of focus as his tears welled. He did not bother to wipe his face. He just wanted Kaige's agonizing moans to stop. He just…

…nodded…

…and _he_ shot his gun again.

Then there was silence.

"He wouldn't have liked to be left alive anyway," the Colonel noted in a flippant tone. "Not with the rest of his family gone."

"You—you are a…" Gojyo trailed off. What was the point of uttering curses and threats until his throat bled?

They were dead.

They were all dead.

"Be careful with what you say from now on, youkai," the Colonel said. "I won't shoot you but I'm sure you recognize this beauty from last night." And he produced a knife from his sash.

Gojyo stared numbly at the blade.

"I have just one more question for you," the Colonel continued, running his blade up and down against a bar of Gojyo's cell. "Answer me and I will go away, so you can mourn your late friends."

The ominous sound of metal on metal filled Gojyo's swimming senses with promises of unspeakable pain. He huddled in on himself, dizzy, shivering. This man would certainly want to know about Goku and Hakkai, or how to take possession of Sanzo's scriptures. Gojyo could not, would not say anything… But gods, oh, Merciful Gods Above & Below, how was he supposed to resist the torture of having his arm chopped off? And that child…

That poor, unfortunate little child!

"As I said, Gojyo, I've heard of your team." The knife went up the iron bar. "I know that your Sanzo carries an interesting treasure. So, what I want you to tell me is…" The Colonel crouched in front of Gojyo, his knife screeching all the way down. "Aren't you a whore who wants to sleep with Sanzo?"

For a moment, Gojyo did not understand what he had been asked. Only 'treasure' and Sanzo's name sank in, and he whimpered, thinking that the question referred to the scriptures. Then the rest of the sentence started being translated:

Sleep…

…sleep with…

…Sanzo.

Gojyo blinked. And rasped a weak, broken "Yes."

"Yes what, Gojyo?" the Colonel pressed, in an intimate voice.

"I want—wanted—to sleep with Sanzo."

"That's not what I asked you, Gojyo!" the Colonel scolded. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

To stop his teeth from chattering, Gojyo bit into his lower lip. Gods, what was he missing? He could not remember the cruel bastard's exact words…

"I—I … can't…"

"Come on, Gojyo." The Colonel leaned forward, face contrite, sympathetic. "Of course you can remember!"

Gojyo brushed his sweaty hair from his eyes, trying to concentrate. He was missing a key word in the question, wasn't he? A word this man wanted to hear…

"Yes," he responded at last, in a trance-like stillness. "I'm a whore who wants to sleep with Sanzo."

"I see. Thank you, Gojyo." And the Colonel burst into laughter. Then, as if everything that had transpired in this place had been nothing but a particularly good joke, he straightened and left, inviting his lieutenant to have another drink.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Sanzo turned to the left in the narrow passageway and pushed the door open without any polite preamble. Sitting at a low table near a window, the old man whirled around with an outraged hiss.

"What do you want here?" Wang Ushi demanded. "Get out!"

Sanzo strode into the room. "We need to talk, Major. And, believe me, this is going to be more repulsive for me than it'll be for you."

Wang Ushi snorted, hands playing with the small brush with which he had been practicing calligraphy. "Feeling trapped, aren't you, pretty boy?" he drawled. "I bet you are."

Ignoring the provocation, Sanzo stood between the light from the window and the artist, casting his shadow over several strewed rice papers. "Yesterday one of my servants was taken to the Anthill," he started coldly. "Since you were an officer with the armed force, I'm sure you know what I must do to retrieve him as quickly as possible. Alive, of course."

The toothless mouth was pulled upwards in a parody of a smile. "Now, why should _I_ help _you_ free a _youkai_? Hmm? I hate the damn things. I spent my whole life killing them." Malicious eyes glinted. "And I don't like _you _at all."

"Whatever," Sanzo answered coldly. "Just remember that neither my servant nor I are anything to you but abstract concepts. You hate us only on principle, isn't that so? The Youkai and the Youkai Lover?" He paused, not wanting to consider this definition—and how his traitorous body had pushed him to make it true. "We're complete strangers to you. Zhou Jun, though, is another matter. In Zhou Jun's case your hatred is personal."

The old man's hand trembled lightly and a drop of black ink marred the perfection of an ideogram. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're making things up to—"

"Spare me your indignation, Major, I'm not interested," Sanzo interrupted. "Your issue with that … deviant, to use your own word, doesn't concern me. I have my own problems to think about. But it's clear that he has something against you—something serious." He leaned forward, and said, imitating the other's mocking tone, "Otherwise _you_ wouldn't take an order from _him_, much less one where _you _were used as a crutch to help a _youkai _enter your own house."

Wang Ushi grimaced, studying his ruined work. "And they say I'm mad. You're delusional, monk."

"Zhou Jun is smart. Or he thinks he is." Sanzo crouched to get his eyes level with the old man's. "My team being held here got him a promotion like this." He snapped his fingers and Wang Ushi jerked his head up, all pretense of indifference forgotten. "Yes, Major, Zhou Jun is a sergeant now. I'm sure you noticed that he was high as a kite this morning." Sanzo dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Power can do that to a man. Of course, you, better than I, know the amount he'll have at his disposal from now on."

A disconcerted pause, then Wang Ushi's sizzling anger gushed out in a mixture of stammering words and spittle. "I—you! Out! Out of here, whore, you say nothing but lies!"

"Do I?" Sanzo continued. "My servant was going to be released yesterday. We were free to go. I was there, in Captain Wu Tai's office, when Zhou Jun informed him that a certain Sergeant Chen Dan had transferred the prisoner—and that he, Zhou Jun, had been a witness to that. Interesting, isn't it? But it gets even better. According to the captain's secretary, the mutinous officer was punished. And lo and behold, our friend Zhou Jun enters the scene again, now a sergeant. Do you believe in coincidences, Wang Ushi-san?"

No answer.

"Zhou Jun bragged that he had my captured servant to thank for his good fortune," Sanzo pressed on. "To me, it sounds like a confession of his direct involvement in everything that happened last night."

Wang Ushi laid the brush on the inkwell. Recovered from his undignified explosion, he now sat impassively, studying his dirty nails.

"You asked why you should help me," Sanzo tried again. "Well, by doing nothing you are only aiding Zhou Jun in getting, on his own terms, everything he wants. There are many youkai and youkai lovers out there, Wang Ushi-san, and you can hate all of them to your heart's content. But there's only one Zhou Jun. He said he's risking a lot with my case. Though it sounds like an exaggeration, it may have a grain of truth… A point that I could use against him if I knew how to tell the lies from the real dangers in this maze."

From a discarded sheet on the floor a haiku by Matsuo Basho rustled in the silence:

_With every gust of wind, _

_the butterfly changes its place _

_on the willow._

Sanzo balled his fists as he tried to control his respiration. _Come on, old man, which one will you be? The wind? Or the butterfly? _

Wang Ushi lifted his eyes. Then the corners of his mouth. "You conveniently forgot to mention that he's after your ass, monk." The low, contemptuous voice dripped mockery. "Aren't you going to bend over for him, like a cheap whore?"

The wind, then.

Sanzo sprang to his feet, disgusted, the sudden movement making him dizzy.

"Ah, touchy, aren't we?" Wang Ushi tilted his face up, satisfied. "Why don't you admit what you are?"

Sanzo stared down at the hateful beady eyes. "Is that what you want to hear?" he asked, controlling his temper by the slimmest thread. "All right. If this specific sacrifice will help me free my teammate, yes, I will 'bend over for him'. Will this single desperate act turn me into a whore?" Wang Ushi chuckled and nodded. Sanzo nodded back, willing his fists to unclench. He was no Goku, but his nails could inflict quite an amount of self-damage. "So be it. But know this: Zhou Jun will tell me about you, old man. He will tell me the reason you are so afraid of him."

"I'm not—"

"That little piece of information will be my condition to take my … bargain with him to its end, Major. I'm certain that there are people in this town who will be interested in the story, whatever it is. And I won't have any qualms about destroying what you still have of your miserable life. Why should I?" Sanzo wiped his smarting palms on his robe. "_I _don't like _you_ at all."

"You have nothing, whore."

"For now."

Wang Ushi retrieved Basho's haiku from the floor and placed it on the table. "Get out. I have better things to do."

Sanzo's mind reeled, trying to call forth some sign that he had failed to read while opting for this particular road. He had been certain that the old major would help him; the man had everything to lose and absolutely nothing to win with this situation.

Unless…

… the malicious stares…

… the dirty comments…

… the obsessive worry about his 'ass'…

Shit, this man _was_ as repellent as Zhou Jun.

"As you wish." Sanzo headed to the door, his heart thudding painfully. "Oh, by the way. If you're waiting for some kind of free _hentai_ show under your roof, you can forget it. I hope you have a good imagination, because you'll only have your own filthy thoughts to watch tonight. I'm leaving this dump."

Just three more steps to the door.

One…

Sanzo forced himself to keep going, a scream of frustration choked by the shameful lump in his throat.

…two…

_Oh gods, Gojyo! _

"Fuck!" Wang Ushi snarled. "Wait!"

Sanzo halted, turning to the lewd old man. The knotted, ink-spotted hands, the ones that could create such beauty, were now spread open on Basho's poem, thumbs together.

Like the dried, rotting wings of a dead butterfly.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Ignoring the discomfort of his soaked trousers, Hakkai hugged the large borrowed tunic closer to his body and walked to the window. Nothing much to see from this room, but his sight kept darkening and blurring, so he needed the reassurance of a world bathed in daylight. Behind him, the door was unceremoniously opened and Sanzo's voice—once more reserved, once more dispassionate and impersonal—reached him: "How are you doing?"

Hakkai craned his head, grateful for the coldness. A tender, worried Sanzo—that alien version of Sanzo who had taken care of him for the last few hours—would undo him on the spot. For he was unwell, and frightened, and anxious; the haze in his mind was finally dissipating, leaving in its trail fragments of unpleasant memories and ominous forebodings.

"Hakkai?"

He flinched. Concern had crept into Sanzo's tone and he did not want it, this concern, this new, unknown creature that guarded the entrance to the uncharted ground where he and this human now hesitantly stood. More than ever, it was essential to start propping and mending their respective crumbling walls. He met Sanzo's stare, or tried to, as the scene in the backyard pulsed between them for a moment; then Sanzo broke their connection by turning to shut the door and Hakkai was left fumbling for his own mental locks. "I'm feeling better," he answered. "Thank you." Fortunately the reply came out reserved. Dispassionate. Impersonal. "Wang Po has brought us breakfast."

Sanzo nodded and went to sit at the rickety table where Wang Po had left a tray. He grimaced at the small, bad quality peaches, and poured himself a cup of tea.

"What did the old man say?" Hakkai asked after a while.

Sanzo glanced up. "That the story about papers is a lie; that Zhou Jun can't—and won't—help. He told me to get a horse and a guide instead, go to the northeast district, and see their Head of the Council, a certain Xie Dewei. Once there, I'm supposed to do some bootlicking and offer a ransom for Gojyo. According to the major, this Xie Dewei is, and I quote, 'greedy as a fifth-class whore's cunt'. If everything goes well, I'll be knocking on the gates of the fortress atop this hill with a signed order to set Gojyo free this very afternoon."

"Do you trust the major? Is the information reliable?"

"No to the first question, yes to the second. The old fucker hates youkai and he hates Zhou Jun; he won't gain anything by helping any of us, but his hatred towards Zhou Jun outweighs everything."

"I felt his hatred during our brief contact in the front garden," Hakkai said slowly. "How can such aversion be considered a minor annoyance?" Sanzo shrugged. He seemed confident of his grasp of the situation, though there was a different brusqueness in his movements that set off all Hakkai's alarm bells. "Sanzo, I would—"

"Have you eaten?"

Hakkai blinked, willing his uncooperative eye to focus on Sanzo's face. "I had some tea. I—"

"You should eat, Hakkai. The peaches are moldy, but—"

"What's the matter between you and Zhou Jun?"

All of a sudden, the cracked porcelain Sanzo had in his hands seemed very interesting. "Nothing. He made some empty threats, that's all."

"What kind of threats?"

Sanzo dropped his cup onto the table. "You know, Hakkai, I'm really fed up with the way you've started butting—"

"I have the right to know," Hakkai said softly. "Whatever affects you, affects me. And Gojyo. And Goku. If we are still a team, that is."

Silence.

Hakkai lowered his head. "Are we, Sanzo?" he murmured, feeling defeated. "Are we still a team?"

**o o o **

Sanzo sighed. Unlike Goku, Hakkai would not settle down with his Shut Up & Do As I Say act. Thankfully.

He sagged a little in his chair and took a peach. "Apparently Zhou Jun brings men to this place," he began. "Foreigners in the same situation we are now. The ones, and here I quote Old Demon Wang once more, 'who are desperate to get their bitches back'. If the victim is interesting enough, and dumb enough, the charade can and will be prolonged for weeks. The youkai is executed on the third day, of course, but Zhou Jun 'forgets' to mention this little detail when explaining the rules of his game." The threat against Gojyo could be omitted. It was unfounded, as Old Wang had maintained in the last part of their little talk. _Zhou Jun is bluffing, monk_, that toothless mouth had drawled._ He can't go there at his will and convenience. Much less, er … talk? to prisoners. Your lover's ass is safe from him_. But there had been something else in those eyes that still made Sanzo's stomach churn.

_Your lover's ass is safe from him. _

Lover.

He had not even denied the assumption.

Zhou Jun was not the only predator on the loose, if those soldiers' behavior in the courtyard was anything to go by. And Gojyo… Gojyo was exquisite. Wherever the Sanzo-ikkou went, people ogled. Commented. And made passes on him—who had no qualms about using his charms to help himself to goods or favors he might be needing. Gojyo enjoyed strangers' attention as much as he enjoyed sleeping around. The whore.

Sanzo bit the moldy skin of the peach, accepting the rotten taste that flooded his mouth as his given due.

"I see," Hakkai's low voice intruded, startling him. "So Zhou Jun is stalking you."

Sanzo relinquished his half-eaten peach back into the bowl and stood up, ignoring the protests of his sore legs. "Can you manage a walk, Hakkai?"

"Yes."

It was a lie, and Hakkai had not even tried to pretend otherwise. But it did not matter. "I've promised Old Wang's nephew more money," Sanzo said half under his breath. "He's going to find you a lift to the outskirts of this town. Goku and Hakuryu are around that potter's shop we saw when we arrived." He fished in his pocket for another gold coin and tossed it onto the tray. "Give Wang Po that and lose him before you get too close to our meeting point." There was something else in his hand, something he put down much more carefully. "Here. I think the lens is cracked."

Hakkai did not move to collect his monocle. "I—I thought I had dreamed Wu Tai returning it to me last night," he whispered.

"What? Why did they confiscate your—" Sanzo broke off and shook his head. "Never mind. Have you understood what I've told you? I don't think those soldiers will bother you, but be careful."

"I'm going with you."

"Hakkai. You aren't fit to help. Between being concussed and that crazy mind trick you pulled on Wu Tai, it's a wonder you're standing. Every minute counts and I can't carry on baby-sitting you."

"Then I'll stay here, to keep an eye on the old man and Zhou Jun. So you won't stumble on them."

"No fucking way," Sanzo growled. "The old man agreed to leave you alone, but how long do you think your 'special condition' will be a secret? One of Wu Tai's men lives here. And Zhou Jun will come back."

Hakkai flashed him a smile.

"I'm really growing tired of having to argue each one of my points, Hakkai," Sanzo said dully. And he should be angry, shouldn't he? He should be demanding obedience. "I can't—"

"Go," Hakkai interrupted gently. "Every minute counts. And thanks."

"For what? I didn't—"

"For proving to me that we're still a team."

Sanzo sighed again and headed to the door, his words of caution dying unvoiced in the bitter aftertaste of the peach.

"Sanzo?"

The whisper made him halt, but not turn.

"You bring Gojyo back, you hear me?" Hakkai croaked. "Bring Gojyo back to us."

Sanzo opened his mouth to offer reassurance, his hand already on the doorknob. But then… Then he was not one to give false hope. Without any kind of acknowledgement, he left.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The young man turned the corner and drew closer to the high brick wall, extending his right arm to play with the overgrown vines that shaded the sidewalk. He was hungry, tired, and in need of a bath, but still he felt reluctant to go to the place he now called home. He did not want to perform the dirty task he was ordered to do. 

"Hey, Eng Ho!" a jovial voice broke into his self-commiserating thoughts. "Eng Ho-san! Right here!"

Eng Ho looked back, greeted his caller with an unenthusiastic, uninviting hand wave and sped up his pace.

"Wait! Eng Ho-san, wait a minute!" And the other caught up with him, bumping into a street vendor in his haste to close the distance between them. "Don't tell me you're on duty _today_?"

"No," Eng Ho muttered with bad grace, barely eyeing the boy who now had fallen in step with him. "I spent the whole night at the station, that's all. And since I'm still wearing the uniform and you're in your civvies, we can't fraternize in public. I shouldn't have to remind you of our most basic regs, Sima-san!"

"Tough night, eh?"

The soft comment caused Eng Ho to tighten his lips in shame. Sima was a good friend—the only member of the force who treated him with respect. Yet here he was, repaying consideration with unforgivable rudeness. "We had a sort of emergency," he said apologetically. "What happened to your nose?"

"Uh? Ah, this? I was at a party yesterday. Good music, too much beer, and things got a little out of control. But she was well worth the pain!"

Eng Ho shook his head, slightly less depressed. "How are you going to explain _that _to your superior officer, Sima-san? Tomorrow you will have to work, you know."

"Yeah, well, I just saw Lieutenant Nai, who, by the way, _is _actually on duty, chatting and drinking with some ladies at the foot of Xie Haifu's statue. So… I don't think that my bruised mug will be much of a problem."

Absentmindedly, Eng Ho scratched his pimpled cheek. "I should ask for a transfer to your station, Sima-san. Or, perhaps, to be discharged from the force altogether."

Sima whistled at the remark but did not offer a comment of his own, and Eng Ho hunched his shoulders further. An elderly woman carrying colorful packages pressed herself against the wall to let him pass—it was always like _that _when he wore the uniform—and Eng Ho looked at her with a confused mixture of dread and triumph.

"You must really be tired, Eng-san," Sima said after a while, "because I've never seen you so eager to face your landlord. Or… Are you going to see someone else?"

Eng Ho slowed down his strides, realizing he was almost running. "No, I—damn, Sima-san, how unfair life can still be, hmm? I promised my family I was going to have dinner with them tonight, but… It's already past noon and half of the day is gone; I didn't get any sleep last night and now I'll have to hear that lunatic calling me names…" he trailed off, his throat tight. "It's not fair_, ne_?"

"Nope, it isn't."

"One of these days you'll have to arrest me for shooting the old fart, Sima-san," Eng Ho added lamely. "Buddha, he's driving me crazy."

"Let me see if I can guess our dear major's last stunt… Oh, I see! Now, you're also a youkai. Am I right?"

Eng Ho laughed despite himself and pressed a pimple on his chin until he could feel viscous wetness on his fingers. "No. I'm still a human and still a lost cause. You, on the other hand…" He looked around and lowered his voice, knowing that even a harmless bantering could be dangerous with such a subject. "He always asks me about you, Sima-san. He asks me when I'm going to open my eyes and take you to the Anthill… Hey, calm down, man! I'm only joking! The old major is fucking crazy, nobody will—"

"But they _will_, Eng Ho," Sima growled, an angry gesture punctuating his affirmation. "Eventually they will; especially if you keep repeating that son of a bitch's words to whoever cares to listen—"

"Sima-san, it was only a joke," Eng Ho protested. "And I know better than to repeat his words to anyone else but yourself. You know, as a _joke_."

Sima nodded, frowning. "Yeah, all right, but Crazy Wang still has very important friends in very important places, Eng Ho. That's what makes me nervous. I don't know why the fucker got it into his head that I'm one of those things; I don't know why he decided to persecute me so, but his ravings can cost me my life. After what happened last year, with those two brothers… Nobody is safe, Ho-san!"

"Don't worry, Sima-san, your being a youkai is my special secret," Eng Ho answered, trying to stick to the humorous part of the whole situation. "As for what happened last year? I don't think we'll have another similar case. Chen Dan-sama was discharged from the force. Discharged with dishonor."

"What! You're—you're kidding me!"

"As if," Eng Ho replied. The sidewalk was growing larger and more crowded, but his uniform still granted them sufficient privacy. "He arrested a demon and a youkai lover yesterday evening—servants of a Sanzo who is visiting us. Captain Wu Tai decided to set both free and guess what? Only the human was still around. Chen Dan had transferred the thing to the Anthill." He stopped to appreciate a float, its dozens of unlit red lanterns swinging enticingly against the blue sky. "Can you imagine Captain Wu Tai's face when he found out? Zhou Jun said that the captain seemed on the verge of a heart attack. I think Chen Dan-sama believed himself untouchable. But his luck ran out yesterday, as well as mine."

"Yours?"

"Zhou Jun was promoted," Eng Ho explained, watching the progress of the noisy people who pulled and pushed the gigantic float along the street. He could feel Sima's eyes on him—piercing, inquiring eyes that _demanded _an answer—and turned his face, shuddering. Sima always managed to unsettle him in one inexplicable way or another; nonsense, of course, and doubly embarrassing because such a reaction was probably brought about by old Wang's hateful words. He resumed walking and so did Sima.

"I've heard some rumors about Zhou Jun," Sima said, "but I've never met him. Is he that bad, Eng-san?"

"Worse," Eng Ho mumbled, pretending to be interested in the comings and goings of the crowd. "Look, Sima, I'm sorry, but I'm really—"

"Worse than Chen Dan? Come on, man, that's not possible! Sorry, I know you respected the guy, but Chen Dan was a real motherfucker when he wanted to be."

"Yes, a motherfucker to _youkai_," Eng Ho conceded grudgingly. "And to … youkai lovers. I never saw him molesting _monks_." His stomach began to churn when he discerned the white fence of Wang Ushi's boarding house. Oh gods, what was he doing here? in this place? among these people? How he longed to be back on his grandparents' farm! And youkai, raving madmen, and lewd officers all be damned, for he could no longer tell which was the greater evil.

"Molesting monks?" Sima repeated, sounding surprised.

"Zhou Jun likes men, Sima-san," Eng Ho murmured, painfully aware that the distance to the white fence was becoming short—too short. "I thought it was only gossip; I mean, I've heard him make some weird comments around, but that was all. Last night, though…" Eng Ho hovered at the crumbling wooden gate, definitely not wanting to go inside. "I saw it with my own eyes, Sima-san. He was all over the foreigner monk. Groping him. Licking him. In the courtyard and right in front of everyone! With Major Yao right there! With the captain in his office! Can you believe it?" He got the proper expression of disgust he was waiting for, then continued, "Zhou Jun brought the Sanzo here this morning. You can imagine his intentions, can't you? The bets had already started when I left the station…" He extended a shaking hand to release the latch of the gate. "And now… Now I've been dragged into this shit, too. Zhou Jun _ordered_ me to keep tabs on the monk. As if I had nothing better to do on my day off than to play pimp for him!"

"You could—maybe you could go to a superior officer—"

"Zhou Jun is my superior officer, Sima! And how do you think my reporting him will be seen by the others if I go, say, to Captain Wu Tai? Wu Tai doesn't care; he's barely in the station these days. His secretary has to call him at home every time we have an emergency. As for Major Yao… He's furious at the whole Chen Dan debacle, simply furious—he was the one who wanted Chen Dan promoted in detriment of Zhou Jun to begin with. So… Certainly he's quite aware of Zhou Jun's appetites, _ne_?"

"I suppose."

Eng Ho snorted hopelessly. "And now one of the Sanzo's servants managed to evade our security net. How can a foreigner with a pet dragon just go missing? We haven't heard from the Colonel yet, but I bet that we will, and pretty soon."

"Do you think that we'll have another—"

"Hey! _You!_" The yell caused both men to jump. Wang Ushi had his bald head poked through a window and a fist up in the air. "Don't touch my fence, demon! Paws off!"

Eng Ho sighed, opened the gate, and bowed awkwardly. "Sorry, Sima-san, but, as you can very well see, I can't invite you in for a tea."

"How _dare _you come here, scum?" Wang Ushi shouted. "How _dare_! I'm not blind like these idiots we have in the force nowadays! Eng Ho, you fucking moron! This thing by your side is a youkai! A _youkai_, for fuck's sake!"

"Good afternoon, Sima-san," Eng Ho muttered. "And have fun tonight."

"Good _luck _to you, Eng Ho-sama."

**o o o **

As soon as the weathered door of the boarding house was closed, Daiki's forced smile disappeared and he took in the ridiculous scene that the old man presented with detached fascination. Wang Ushi now hit ineffectively the windowsill like a child in the grasps of a temper tantrum, face red, curses and spit flying from his toothless mouth in equal amounts.

"…fucking youkai! I've lost count of how many of you I put down, beast, of how many I made scream in agony…"

Daiki tuned the ominous shouting out. He did not remember how many times he had asked—had begged—permission to kill this monster. A permission that Jiro-sama would never give him. _Let him suffer_,the older youkai had said once. _Let him live knowing his sons are all buried. Let him haunt that collapsing house, sitting over the money he stole and that he will never be able to spend. Let him be laughed at by his peers. I prefer to see him suffer than to grant him a quick death._ Daiki chuckled, saluted mockingly the most famous torturer of the force still alive, and started walking.

Fortunately there was no need to keep searching for word on Goku's band. Eng Ho, blessed be his stupid little soul, was always a reliable source of information. And this time Daiki had found out so much more than expected. Gods, Chen Dan had been thrown out of the force! How this particular news would be celebrated in the youkai community!

He felt his steps grow lighter as he reached the corner. He knew he was going to do something foolish, but … so what? It would only be this once. Only for today. He should be the one to tell his father about Chen Dan's fall from grace. The one to see in the red eyes some satisfaction, some approval, even if it was not directed at him.

Maybe Gihei's spirit would rest in peace now his killer had met with some kind of justice. And maybe, just maybe, Zuoji would finally remember that he had another son.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Crouched in a corner, Goku flexed his cut hands before wiping them on his pants. For the umpteenth time.

The morning was long over.

And Daiki had not come back.

Goku frowned, barely able to focus on his sluggish thoughts.

Okay, so Daiki might have run away. No big deal—after all, the youkai had almost been killed in his own house. Goku snorted, remembering the terrorized look on the other's face and flexed his hands once more.

Or…

Maybe Daiki had lied and his loyalties were with the military of this town. In which case, he would return with his armed buddies.

"That doesn't make any sense, you know," Goku murmured, tracing the edge of his deepest cut with a fingernail. "He could've betrayed me last night. He did lie, but it was about Sanzo dying." The words seemed to hang endlessly in the stifling silence. "Sanzo won't die. Never."

Sunlight was starting to filter through the colorful beads at the window, creating the most fantastic patterns on the floor, and Goku smiled, fascinated. There were greens and yellows and reds… And there were brownish stains and shredded bandages.

He gazed blankly at the mess on the floor. He had hurt himself again, hadn't he? Those were _his_ bandages. The dried blood was _his_. Strange how he felt no pain.

Without looking down, he slipped his fingernail into the cut he was tracing. Wetness welled up, warming his palm, and the coppery scent of fresh blood reached him. But there was no pain. He let out a surprised gasp and tucked his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from ripping off a knucklebone.

"What was those puppets' song again?" he hummed, trying to recall the lyrics. "_I kill and I_ … uh, fight? Nope. _I kill and I maim and I_—laugh? or something like this. _I kill and I maim and I laugh at your_—fuck!" He froze in horror as something brushed against the back of his right hand.

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit… He had indeed torn off one of his bones! He had crippled himself! The thing was now in his pocket, rolling loosely.

Nauseated, he managed to fish the object out and shakily brought it into view.

A stone. A dark, small, smooth stone.

He blinked owlishly at it, then remembered. Querulous-san had offered Sanzo this. Sanzo had ignored the gift, but Goku was not one to let opportunities to improve their luck pass by and had pocketed the talisman. "_Almost _talisman," he corrected himself, quoting aloud the clerk's words. As for his hands… "Almost in one piece," he said and burst out in hysterical laughter. Damn, but he was definitely, completely, irreversibly _screwed_.

Okay. He had better go. Better stand up, and take his luggage, and walk to the door, and … and…

All hilarity stopped as suddenly as it had started.

And what?

"Sanzo, I don't know what to do," he mumbled. "You told me to wait for you on the outskirts, but Hakuryu is still missing, and I don't know what I should do…" he trailed off as he caught sight of an ant on the moldy wall. A black ant, carrying what seemed to be a moth's wing. "I just want this over, Sanzo," he prayed fervently. "Please, please, I just want to leave this place…"

_So get up!_

Goku sprang to his feet, wild-eyed. "Who's there?" he demanded, already knowing the answer: Nobody.

He was alone.

His keen senses registered no physical presence, human or youkai.

He was alone.

Though _she _had been following him around for a while now…

"Go away!" he shouted, panting heavily. "What else do you want? You're dead. Go back to hell! Go haunt the ones who killed you! Do you hear me? Don't you dare drag me along to that nightmare again! Sanzo won't let you drag me to that place ever again. Sanzo—"

_—is dying._

"Waiting for me," he finished, his tone clipped. "Sanzo is waiting for me. Did you hear me? He will always be there for me, always." He lifted a hand to brush his bangs out of his eyes and whimpered when his fingertips brushed against metal. The headband. He still forgot about it sometimes. "I should… I must…"

_…take it off._

"…go to Sanzo. That's it, I must go to Sanzo." He turned to the door, then whirled around with a hiss, catching a shadow moving nearby. A pair of golden eyes stared back at him from Daiki's sleeping area. "Don't come any closer!" he roared. "Stay away from me!" The creature mimicked his movements; even moved its mouth when he spoke. Goku stared at it, aghast.

_You know, at this rate, your friends will be dead by the time you decide to move your ass, __it said. Not that I care._

"But… I… I can't go out!" Goku protested. "The door—the door will be locked! Sanzo will have to come to open it. Sanzo will set me free—"

_We don't need a mere human to set us free. _

"Sanzo isn't a _mere_ human," Goku hissed, tossing his head impatiently. And so did the creature.

_And you're pathetic. Now open that cursed door already! _

Grateful for having someone, _anyone_, guiding him through such a nightmare, Goku went to the door. He fumbled for the crude knob, brushing aside Daiki's uniform.

_Why don't we put the uniform on? _

"Uh? Oh! Yeah, why not?" Goku chuckled, wiping dripping saliva from his chin with the back of his right hand. "You're clever."

He started undressing. Daiki was taller, but not to the point where the difference in size between them could be a notable discrepancy. "What about my luggage?" he asked.

_Leave it._

"I can't! Everything we have… Everything is there!"

_We don't need them. We need nothing. _

"_You_ may need nothing, but _I_ do," Goku retorted, exasperated. He scooped up the 'almost talisman' from his pile of discarded clothes. "And how am I going to explain to Sanzo that I 'misplaced' his stuff? Eh? I'll have a hard enough time trying to explain how I managed to lose Hakuryu."

_You won't have to explain anything to anybody if you keep wasting time. And what kind of soldier goes on patrol carrying bags? Fuck, but you're dumb. _

Goku had to concede the point. "I—I'll come back for the bags later, then."

_Yeah. Whatever._

Glorious sunlight greeted him when he opened the door.

"Thanks," he said, taking a deep breath. "For your help, I mean. Now stay away. You don't belong in this world. Right?"

There was no answer.

Goku turned back. "I'm serious here," he insisted. "Don't mess with me! Understood?"

Cunning golden eyes merely peered at him under a fall of brown hair. Annoyed, Goku threw the little stone he held at the cheap frameless mirror over Daiki's bedding, shattering it. Then he bolted away, mind numb.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

He closed the high gate that hid the house from curious eyes and rested his sweat forehead against it. Home. Oh Buddha, he was home! Fighting the lump in his throat, Daiki turned around to look at his surroundings. The front garden seemed smaller, disappointingly so, and now there were camellia shrubs hiding the path to the backyard. But still, if he paid enough attention, he knew he was going to hear his mother singing as she did the laundry. Tears came and mixed with the sunlight, blinding him for a moment. Mother sang only in his memories now.

"What the fuck?" The blunt voice made him jump guiltily.

"Father," he rasped, wiping his face. "Forgive me, I—"

"What are you doing here?" Zuoji interrupted. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here, you complete idiot?"

"I—"

"Inside!"

There was no other possible answer except immediate obedience, and Daiki rushed into the house, edging past Zuoji with a thudding heart. This was not how he had expected to begin such a meeting, but then he tended to forget that his father's hatred for him was an article of faith and not just a transitory condition.

Zuoji closed the door and folded his arms. "Well? And I expect nothing less than a really good explanation."

Daiki lowered his head. Was Chen Dan's discharge a 'really good' justification for breaking every rule about Staying Away? He should not have come. Gods, in his careless haste he had simply taken the shorter way, not even bothering to lose potential followers—not that Zuoji needed to know _that_ right now. Things were already unpromising as they were. "I'm sorry," he stuttered, eyes intent on the colorful carpet—a new addition, it seemed. His father had always liked fancy things. "I only thought you would like to hear some first-hand news."

"Ah, _you_ thought," Zuoji thundered with disdain. "I didn't know that you had license, or even capacity, to think for yourself, but what do I know, _ne_? But, please, do continue."

"I…" and Daiki trailed off, lost and ashamed.

"You what?" Zuoji raised his bushy eyebrows in mock surprise. "Have you come here to spout nonsense, boy? Okay, let's see if I can guess your important 'news,' shall we? Oh, of course!" He snapped his fingers. "You decided to bring your human friends and now you all will escort me to the Anthill. Am I right?"

The accusation was so absurd, and so intentionally hurtful, that Daiki jerked his head up, gasping. "How can you say _that_?" he managed to say. "I don't have 'human friends!' I'm saving our people's lives at the risk of my own!"

"And now you risk everything by coming here. You can imagine what will happen if your pals in the force get a whiff of this, can't you, _hero_?"

"Those humans aren't my 'pals,'" Daiki mumbled warily. That was the only point he could deny, anyway.

"Whatever relieves your conscience at night, eh?"

Suddenly the injustice of his situation, a situation forced upon him by this very man—who now had the nerve to belittle him for carrying out his soul-destroying duty—made Daiki talk back for the first time in his life. "And what soothes _your_ conscience at night, father?" he hissed defiantly, jutting his chin up.

Zuoji blinked, his expression frozen in a mask of utter surprise; then, in an unexpectedly fast move, he closed the distance that separated him from Daiki and slapped the boy across the face.

"I won't be treated in my own house like you treat the youkai you hunt!" Zuoji spat in the charged silence. "Did you hear me piece of shit?"

"_Our _house," Daiki said shakily, feeling his cheek with his fingertips. "I was _born_ here, father. Have you forgotten this little detail? It's _my_ house, too." He looked up and met Zuoji's incredulous red eyes. "_You_ were the one who sent me away. _You_ were the one who told me to infiltrate the force and bring you information on the enemy. Now _you_ judge me and condemn me for obeying your orders."

Zuoji grabbed Daiki by his shirtfront. "What the fuck? Now, what the fuck is _this_?" The question was followed by a shake. "You've got a mouth on you today, eh, boy? Obeying _my_ orders? I do recall telling you to stay the fuck away. How is you coming here obeying my orders? And if you want to blame someone for your miserable life, blame that foreign bitch that crapped you out. It's because of _her_ that you were born resembling a human. It's because of _her_ that you have these shit-colored eyes!"

Daiki bared his teeth. "Don't talk about mother! Don't you dare—" He was silenced by another slap.

"Oh, but I do dare," Zuoji spat. "You won't hear praises for that stupid cunt in this house. And what will you do? Eh? What can _you_ do?" A punch in the stomach and Daiki fell to his knees. "You're worthless, just like she was, youkai killer!"

"_You_ are the youkai killer!" Daiki cried, losing any sense of self-preservation. "It's because of _you_ that Gihei died! It's because of _you _that mother died. _You_!"

There was not much that Daiki could do to defend himself when the beating started for good. Compared to other youkai he was feeble and ineffectual—still alive only due to the unnatural environment of his hometown. He knew he would be long dead in a world ruled by the likes of Son Goku—crushed under some powerful being disgusted by his innate weakness.

"Not so mouthy now, eh?" Zuoji mocked. "Not so mouthy at all! Apologize and I may stop youkai killer!"

Daiki coughed, the pain in his chest excruciating. Zuoji had broken his ribs. He thought about the gun he still had, but the idea was discarded as soon as it was formed. He could not use it. Contrary to his father's belief, he was not one of _them. _

He whimpered when his head was pulled up by his hair.

"Didn't you hear me?" Zuoji screamed in his face. "You _will _apologize! And you _will_ pay attention to me when I'm talking to you, little shit!"

Pain exploded in his stomach again and Daiki's vision blacked out for a moment. It was also becoming increasingly harder to breathe. And Zuoji was not stopping. Zuoji kept hurting him and raving in a vicious tone and his bottomless hatred was all Daiki could get from him now. Words did not make sense any longer. Words did not matter. Not when one was about to die.

He smiled. At least he was not wearing the uniform. At least he would not die wearing that abomination.

Though he would die without telling Yanan that he loved her.

He opened his mouth to call her name when a soft perfume wafted to him. A perfume he might recognize. Also, Zuoji's senseless grunts seemed to have morphed into a more pleasant voice. He tried to concentrate.

"…stop! Stop this immediately! Zuoji, I'm warning you!"

He wheezed wetly. Jiro-sama?

What was Jiro-sama doing here?

Daiki cracked his swollen eyes open in time to see Jiro burying his long nails into Zuoji's wrists to hold him back. Both had their clothes splattered with blood—his blood, undoubtedly.

"Gods, look at him," Jiro was saying. "Zuoji, look at what you have done, you coward!"

"The little shit was mouthing off at me, Jiro. He—"

"Shut up, you coward!" Jiro screeched. "Look at what you've done to your own son!"

A knock on the front door froze their little scene for what seemed an eternity.

Daiki whimpered, mortified, and squinted up at Zuoji. Buddha, he _had_ brought his 'human friends' to his father's house, after all… He had been followed! Zuoji widened his eyes as he came to the same conclusion and lurched forward, one of his fists ready to descend into Daiki's skull and shatter it. "You worthless son of a worthless _bitch_…"

Daiki scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the fatal blow. There was a wild rush of energy, a loud crash … and nothing more. Slowly, he peeked up. Zuoji was on the floor, in the opposite corner. As for Jiro-sama...

Jiro-sama had his back to both of them and he was going to answer the door!

Daiki attempted to shout a warning as he fumbled for his gun. Jiro halted mid-step and turned to him, waving Daiki's weapon in the air. Daiki cringed, expecting more hatred and maybe even a bullet; Jiro just shook his head, expression very sad, stashed the gun in his robe and proceeded to the door, opening it with a jerk.

The stranger standing there attempted to bow. "Good afternoon, sir," the man said. "My name is Cho Hakkai. May I come in, please?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Hakkai sat alone in the airy living room, resisting the temptation to prop his throbbing head on the cushion behind him. How long had he been here anyway? The long-haired youkai who had answered the door had showed him to this niche without a word and then, after throwing a gun to his massive companion, had disappeared inside the house carrying the boy Hakkai had followed. A now brutally battered boy.

Hakkai risked a look towards the hallway where the armed fellow hovered, his expensive clothes stained with blood. So sad, and disheartening, to know that even in the dire conditions of this town youkai could still use such violence against each other…

He sighed and focused his attention on his own hands.

Yeah, as if he was in the position to judge anyone.

A drop of sweat ran down his back, and he bent forward slightly, avoiding more contact with the coarse fabric of the borrowed tunic he wore. The walk from the boardinghouse had been a nightmare, with his weakened body threatening to fail him at each step. Believing him drunk, people on the streets had laughed and cursed and pushed him away as he tried to maintain his balance by grabbing strangers' arms and shoulders. In the end, he had kept up his chase out of sheer stubbornness, sobbing in relief when the boy had finally stopped at this place.

He propped his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands. Oh gods, he was so tired!

And though inevitable, he did not want to brave those streets again. Nor the cruel sun that hurt him, hurt him so badly that it seemed that his head was going to explode in the harsh light.

And his arm…

His left arm was on fire.

_A fire that made him want to howl, that spread through and from his body to beautiful, endless daisy fields. And the charring heat left nothing in its wake. There was nothing but blackened, shriveled up stems resembling children's tiny fingers for vast, infinite expanses of charred land… _

_He whimpered, nauseated. "In All Gods' names, what is this?"_

_"Whatever it is," came an unexpected reply, "it's not just a dream." _

_"But this perfume?" he insisted, desperate. "Daisies don't have any scent. This is…" _

"Gardenia."

With a startled gasp, Hakkai opened his eyes. The long-haired youkai stood in front of him, face intent. "I always wear gardenia during summer," the man went on softly. "It's an old favorite."

Gritting his teeth, Hakkai strengthened his mental shields and hurled at the other a clear warning: _Keep Away_. He definitely did not need someone playing with his mind right now.

"I didn't intend to pry, Cho Hakkai," the youkai added, tilting his head as if listening to distant music. "_You_ projected those images to me."

Hakkai stared up, surprised, skimming his fingers over his left arm. He could still feel a phantom throbbing there. Gojyo… Had he been in touch with Gojyo?

"I'm Jiro," his host said in a more impersonal tone, taking a seat across from him. "What can I do for you?"

"Information," Hakkai muttered, trying to pull himself together. "Advice. You're local youkai, so I suppose you'll know how to deal with these humans' bigotry. One of my friends is in prison—"

"Not only 'in prison,' I'm afraid," Jiro commented. "I've learned your half-breed is in the Anthill." He reached for a small box. "Cigarette?"

Hakkai waved off the offer. "You know who we are, then."

"I've heard about your group, yes. And I talked to Son Goku last night."

"Goku?" Hakkai slid to the edge of his seat, heart racing. "Did he—is he here?"

"No, Cho Hakkai, I'm afraid he's not. We had only a brief conversation before parting ways."

"Even a 'brief conversation' can't have been only a coincidence, Jiro-san!"

"It wasn't. Ask _him_ for further details." Jiro produced a lighter with a flourish. "Please, Zuoji, give us some privacy. I can't stand the sight of you right now." The big youkai with the weapon hesitated, but did retreat back to the hallway. "Now, Cho Hakkai, we were talking about the Anthill," Jiro continued. "That fortress has been the official place for official torture and official killing since this town's origin. At first, youkai killed youkai there. Our youkai founder used to get rid of his enemies by flogging them, covering them with honey or something similar and burying them, leaving only their heads out of the ground. I don't know if you're aware, but we have a very aggressive species of ant in this region." Jiro took a long drag on his cigarette. "Then, the day came when humans started killing youkai there. And though humans always had their own creative methods, feeding the ants was, and is still, quite fashionable. The practice became a tradition. Hence the fortress's name."

Hakkai nervously adjusted his monocle. "Youkai … founder? _Youkai_ ruled this area?" It should not come as such a shock. But still…

Jiro shrugged. "For a while. If you're interested, Son Goku will be able to tell you about our history. He had the, uh, privilege of hearing an interesting version of it. And from our honorable founder's mouth, no less. One of the drawbacks of youkai longevity is that we always, always outlive our dreams.

"And some don't accept that graciously," Hakkai whispered.

"No, Cho Hakkai. Some just can't let things go."

"How can I help Gojyo, Jiro-san?"

"No one has ever entered that cursed place as a prisoner and walked away from it." Jiro wrinkled his nose and plucked a metal ashtray from the table. "But, of course, there's a first time for everything."

Hakkai wet his dry lips. "May I—"

"You may, but first let me also ask you a question. It's only fair, _ne_?" Jiro's bitter smile did not reach his eyes. "This madness… This disease that affects youkai everywhere. Your group is closely related to it. According to some rumors, that monk of yours, that Sanzo, is trying to save us all. Humans _and_ youkai alike."

Hakkai nodded. It was one way of summarizing the situation.

"What I want to know is simple," Jiro said, lowering his voice. "Is there a cure? Once mad, can a youkai go back to his former self?"

"I suppose I'll only have this answer if—when—our quest is fulfilled, Jiro-san," Hakkai mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"But—but _you _haven't seen or simply heard of … contaminated youkai regaining their sanity?"

"No, Jiro-san. To my knowledge, no."

Jiro studied his cigarette in silence before putting it out. "That is frightening, Cho Hakkai. Truly frightening. I mean… The prospect of losing my mind. Of becoming the proverbial Rabid Beast of our hated enemies."

"It seems this area was spared, Jiro-san. Sometimes—"

"Oh, but it wasn't!" And Jiro averted his eyes to the sunny window. "Two days ago we had an incident in a mill at the outskirts. The youkai in question was killed by her youkai co-workers, and the case didn't get much attention. Our kind's issues are maintained within our community, to avoid more persecution. But the circumstances were bizarre, to say the least. And today… Today I got three new reports. One of them came directly from the youkai area in this town."

"You mean … here?" Hakkai balled his fists. How could any of them deal right now with Changed youkai?

"Not exactly _here_," Jiro huffed, drumming his long nails on the ashtray. "Wealthy youkai enjoy certain benefits, as you've certainly already noticed. We aren't confined in the ghetto where the poor live. We can even circulate with relative freedom, as long as we keep away from youkai-free districts. Not that it will make any difference now."

"Jiro-san, I understand your concern, but—"

"Don't you see, Cho Hakkai? It's starting! We didn't register any cases before your arrival; but then you come to this area and presto!" Jiro gained his feet, spilling the contents of the ashtray on the thick carpet. "It can't have been just a coincidence, to use your own words. Your Sanzo brought us the plague."

"It doesn't work like that!" Hakkai tried, and failed, to stand as well.

"Jiro?" Zuoji boomed, rushing into the room again. "Why didn't you tell me about the new cases?"

Ignoring him, Jiro approached Hakkai, towering over him. "Oh, but it _does_ work like that. In the end, it does. Whoever wants to stop your Sanzo will have no qualms about using _us _as their pawns. Or puppets, to use Son Goku's analogy."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Zuoji demanded. "Jiro? You _should_ have told me about the new cases!"

"Do you want 'advice,' foreigner?" Jiro crouched in front of Hakkai, red eyes wild. "Go to the Anthill at nightfall. Because of the Festival, they'll be operating at their minimum today. And as soon as the humans get word of a disturbance in the youkai area… Well, chances are that you'll have excellent cover for an unprecedented breakout."

"Jiro!" Zuoji cried. "Answer me, damn it!"

"What about you?" Hakkai breathed, overwhelmed.

"Us?" Jiro murmured. "We will have a blood bath."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22 **

He was running a fever. It was the only explanation for being so cold.

Gojyo pressed his right palm to his forehead, growling in frustration, and went to crouch as far as he could from the bars.

Fuck, where was Hakkai? Sanzo might be willing to let him die in this place and Goku's meek acquiescence with everything Sanzo-related did not bode well for his cause. But Hakkai! How could Hakkai abandon him?

How dare Hakkai betray him so!

"He was shot, you stupid whore," he murmured to himself, chewing furiously at his good hand's nails. "Shot in the head. Because of you, no less."

Like _her_.

Gojyo turned his head to look at the other cell. It was growing darker as the afternoon wore on, and the shifting light showed fractured minutiae of a ghastly frozen scene. The girl's body lay half-hidden in the shadows, a sandal hanging from a little foot. Her brother was mainly a lump on the straw litter, but it was still possible to see a ring on one of his clawed hands. Kaige had toppled over, face contorted in a rictus of horror. Gojyo watched, nauseated, as a bluebottle landed on one of the man's staring eyes then crawled into his nose.

They were all over them now. The flies. Feeding. Mating. Laying eggs. Buzzing excitedly as they thrived in their dance with Death.

Shivering, Gojyo slid all the way down to the floor, muffling a scream when his left shoulder accidentally grazed the rock behind him.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Once started, he discovered he could not stop this mindless chant. It kept coming in convulsive dry sobs, even when his parched throat choked off any real words and only his lips moved soundlessly.

As if observing a stranger from a long distance, he considered indifferently his loss of control. It was almost funny, this weary detachment—he could feel his mouth forming the curse in mechanical repetition, but, like a man possessed, his mind had no voluntary part in it. Fleetingly, he wondered if Changed youkai experienced this sort of trapped consciousness as they were made into raving, killing beasts.

Shit. Now, _that_ was a frightening thought.

Starting to panic, he pressed his good hand against his nose and mouth, cutting off any intake of air. Only when his lungs ached did he relax his grip and prop his head on his clenched fist. He was in pain and dizzy and miserable. But finally quiet.

And as his breathing calmed and the flies' activities escalated in furor, realization dawned: he was going to die in this place. He had close to no energy left. He could not even throw an effective punch, much less call on his spiritual weapon. And there would not be a rescue.

Sanzo would not come.

Neither would Goku.

And Hakkai…

Hakkai might be as dead as Kaige and his family.

"Fuck," Gojyo croaked. Then he paused, waiting in dread for another unstoppable torrent of obscenities. Fortunately, no hysterical fit burst forth this time.

He sighed, acknowledging the numbing void that welcomed him. His impending demise centered him in a way he had not felt since… Since when?

There would be no more battles. No more fear. No more pain. There would be just … nothing.

He would be really, truly Nothing.

"It'll be over," he said aloud, without caring to shoo the fly now circling his wound. "I will no longer have to fight."

And gods, he was tired!

"Yeah, Gojyo, my pal," he slurred, scrunching his eyes shut when his left arm cramped, "I suppose that's it. Sorry."

It was sad to go like this, though. If he was going to die, at least his death could be some sort of event, with him fighting for and at his teammates' side. As it was… Even the Sanzo-ikkou, his best chance to make a difference in a world that never had had a place for him, had imploded. The fake priest hated him and the _saru _hated him and Hakkai…

Hakkai…

Hakkai was his safe ground. His comforter. Hakkai was all-encompassing peace. How could he exist without Hakkai?

"Please, Hakkai, forgive me," he rasped, eyes stinging. "Please, be well."

He tasted something bitter. Something crusty. He jerked his head up, gagging, and crossed his eyes to focus on the thing he had spat out. Straw. Only straw. And how had he ended up curled on the floor to begin with?

He snorted and burrowed further into the dry covering. It prickled and irritated his skin, but it helped him keep warm. Damn, he should not have taken off his shirt…

"Why did I do that anyway?" he mumbled, not really caring about the answer. "It's not like Sanzo is here to ogle me."

Sanzo.

His good hand shaking pathetically, Gojyo began tracing the magic figure in the air.

A circle.

And five straight lines radiating outward.

"My sun."

He chuckled. Right now he could use a little of Sanzo's heat.

At the very beginning of their journey together, Gojyo had indulged in the illicit pleasure of surreptitiously touching whatever Sanzo had been in contact with. A cup. A pillow. A book. Any object that could hold Sanzo's body heat for a while. Afraid of Hakkai's perspicacity, he had broken the habit after the first two weeks, but, from time to time, still luxuriated in his furtive handlings. "I'm an idiot," he recognized dully. "A complete, total, useless idiot."

And like an idiot, here he was. So cold, and no Sanzo at all.

"It doesn't matter. Tomorrow…"

…tomorrow, at this hour, nothing would ever matter again.

He blinked, awed by the sheer clarity of the thought.

"I only hope I won't end up as some ghost roaming these dreadful corridors forever," he said, willing a surge of crushing pain to pass.

That was a possibility. Whatever these humans were planning to do with him, it would not be quick, or clean, or graceful. His death would not be good.

Would Sanzo come then? To pray for him and lay his spirit to rest?

The prospect of spending eternity in this darkness was really terrifying.

Shit, the prospect of spending one more minute in this cell was terrifying.

Because it was growing dark.

Because between Now and Tomorrow, he would have a long, long night ahead.

A night with Kaige's family.

The ominous uproar of the flies seemed to have reached its climax.

A night with _them_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Would you like some tea, sir?"

Sanzo did not bother to turn from his position at the window. "No."

"Maybe something stronger, then?" the woman insisted. "Or something to eat?"

"No." Sanzo could feel her eyes on his back, undoubtedly assessing his bedraggled appearance. "And tell your master I don't have the whole day."

"As you could see for yourself, sir, Xie-sama is entertaining guests—"

"If 'Xie-sama' doesn't drag his ass over here in the next minute," Sanzo hissed and Glared at her over his shoulder, "he and I will be discussing youkai in the main hall, with his guests as witnesses. Such a nice subject for a party… Don't you agree?"

"I—I'll tell him," the woman mumbled. The noise coming from the crowded parlor increased significantly when she pushed open the door to leave. "Please, be patient, sir."

Sanzo swallowed the angry roar that threatened to burst forth, unclenched his fists, and forced himself to keep still. It would not bode well for his cause if he were caught pacing the lavish office like a caged tiger.

This town… This fucking town was nothing but trouble and frustration. Following Wang Ushi's advice, he had tried to find a horse and a guide to bring him to this place. With the streets crammed and queues forming in front of every placard signaling such a service, he had cornered one of the horse owners, offering to pay double for a trip.

"Get at the end of the line like everybody else, foreigner," the fellow had answered, irritated. "I simply can't—"

"I'll pay you triple," Sanzo had interrupted, indifferent to the suspicious looks other customers sent his way.

"I…" And the man had cast a furtive glance at the dark-clad pair of soldiers who watched the bustle with bored expressions. "I don't think so. I would lose my business license, for charging a price over the specifications. We have laws here—"

"Fuck your laws," Sanzo had growled, without caring to lower his voice. "I'll buy one of your horses, then."

The man had deliberated in hushed tones with an associate for a while. And that was how Sanzo had ended up as the owner of a horse by lunchtime.

Not that things had become simpler for him afterwards. He had been forced to wait for a guide to return with the horse. And when he did manage to start his trip, followed by the booing of people still standing in line, he discovered that it would be impossible to estimate his arrival time at the Head of the Council's house. The narrow streets had been completely taken over by turbulent crowds and the larger passageways were cordoned and off limits.

"For the float parades, Sanzo-sama," his young guide had chimed in, amused and excited by the turmoil, as the nervous horse threatened to throw both of them.

To complete the picture, Xie Dewei lived in the northeast district, the very epicenter of the Festival's activities; so, the more they advanced, the more they were forced to search for diversions. It had been late in the afternoon when Sanzo finally stood at an ornate iron gate, handing over his recommendation letters and demanding an audience. He was then showed to this office and made to wait. Maddening.

The door was opened once more and he turned, ready to send the maid to hell. He found a rotund elderly man in the room instead. "Ah, Genjo Sanzo-sama! I'm so sorry for not being able to see you earlier. Your presence in our humble town is a great honor."

"Are you Xie Dewei?" Sanzo asked coldly.

The man bowed low, smiling. "Yes, yes, Sanzo-sama, Xie Dewei, at your service. But, please, take a seat. Didn't any of the girls bring you refreshments? Such unforgivable rudeness!"

"I'm really in a hurry, Xie-san. I'm leaving your town this very evening and I know you're very busy."

"Yes, yes, so I am. The Summer Festival is always an excellent opportunity for business in this area. I'm expecting dignitaries from nearby villages for dinner." And the false smile he had plastered on his face faltered. "Of course, no one here is a really important person in the big scheme of things. Unlike your acquaintances, Sanzo-sama. I've skimmed through your papers and I'm impressed. Quite an adventure you're on, and such illustrious supporters you've found along the way!"

Sanzo noted the jealousy and the opening it gave him to reach for this particular adversary. "I would greatly appreciate if you added a recommendation letter to the papers I've shown you, Xie-san."

Xie Dewei beamed. "But of course, Sanzo-sama! Of course! I've noted that the abbot of the Temple of the Soul's Retreat wrote you some lines." He went to a cabinet and retrieved a carafe and a glass. "Though I respect Seikan-sama, he isn't known outside a very limited circle. He isn't the main authority in this area by any stretch of the imagination."

"No, Xie-san," Sanzo grunted. "That would be you, right?"

"Well, some would say so." Xie Dewei shrugged as he poured himself liquor. "I'm afraid we're still awkwardly provincial, Sanzo-sama. But give us a few years and we'll be civilized like you Easterners."

Too tired to try to fathom the man's words, Sanzo merely offered a "Pardon?"

Xie Dewei sipped his drink and nodded, satisfied. "Ah, perfect … just perfect. Are you sure you won't have a glass? This beauty is distilled at one of my farms. No? Pity, a man in his prime shouldn't scorn life's good things. But we were talking about civilization, _ne_? My town will have electricity one day."

"Electricity?" Sanzo repeated dully.

"An old dream of mine, Sanzo-sama. It's difficult to have things done in this place, though. We're in the middle of nowhere and shy to deal with the rest of the world. I was accused of paving the way for 'foreigner invasion' when I imported the first guns to arm our force. Have you seen them? Our guns?" Xie Dewei chuckled and downed the rest of his glass. "Now, with the rumors of the Youkai War against humans, everyone is kissing my ass." He paused, as fireworks were shot off nearby. "Why don't you stay to have dinner with us, Sanzo-sama? I would love to hear about your travels."

"Maybe another time, Xie-san," Sanzo replied, desperate for the opportunity to bring forth the subject of Gojyo's ransom and be done with this interview. "My quest can't wait."

"Right. All right. So let's take care of your recommendation letter, before my wife barges in to drag me back to our guests." Xie Dewei headed to the desk in the center of the office, took a writing pad from a drawer and made a show of rolling his long embroidered sleeves up as he sat. "I've a reputation to be brief in my sentences, Sanzo-sama; no need to be wordy when I have my family's crest to speak for me." And he tapped the paper with a chubby finger. "I don't want to brag, but the honorable symbol of the Dragon Wrapped Round the Anthill will grant you a safe journey for—"

"What about the Anthill itself, Xie-san?" Sanzo interrupted. "Will your dragon grant me a safe journey up there?"

Xie Dewei froze. "Uh?"

"One of my servants is your prisoner," Sanzo continued in a neutral tone. "He's going to be executed tomorrow."

"What? How?"

"He's a youkai."

"Youkai! But you're a Sanzo! You're on a holy quest to kill youkai!"

Sanzo grabbed the edges of the desk, leaning over it. "It seems your skimming through my papers was really quick, Xie-san. Were you more interested in my supporters' signatures than in the content of the documents those men endorsed?"

Xie Dewei dropped his ink pen as if it burned his fingers. "Buddha! When my maid said you had threatened to discuss youkai in front of my guests I never thought it referred to a literal case! I—Sanzo-sama, I never had to deal with such matters!"

"I never had to deal with such matters, either, Xie-san," Sanzo retorted. "You certainly realize that this situation is an outrage."

"I—I understand your anger, of course I do. But—"

"There are no 'buts,' Xie-san. The goddess herself chose my bodyguards."

"Goddess?" Xie squirmed in his chair, eyes darting about the room. "Let's—let's keep our talk in human spheres, Sanzo-sama. I'm certain the gods have better things to do with their time."

"Agreed," Sanzo purred, finally devising the overture he was waiting for. "Why talk about divine wrath when this is a night for parties and business?"

"Indeed, Sanzo-sama," Xie Dewei said, growing still in his chair. "And, uh, what kind of business would a monk like yourself have in mind, Sanzo-sama?"

Sanzo almost snorted. He knew this opponent would be too clever not to understand the hint. "Why, the kind in which money changes hands, Xie-san. Is there a more effective instrument when we keep to the human sphere?"

Xie Dewei licked his lips nervously. "All right. All right. Fair is fair. How—how much do you want for the thing?"

"What?" Sanzo almost let his mask slip, despite all his negotiation skills.

"How much for the youkai!" Xie grounded out, exasperated. "And for not mentioning my name when you relate this fiasco to whatever gods you have looking out for you. I don't want to be known around as the imbecile who fucked with your mission. By anyone."

"Xie-san—"

"I'll reimburse you for your loss and I'm sure you'll be able to find another demon to tag along with you, if that's what you want." Xie lowered his eyes in a misery act that bordered on ridicule. "Unfortunately, we can't pay much. We're a poor people struggling in this barren desert. Besides… What is money to a holy man whose main objective in life is to avoid human pettiness? Nothing, _ne_? Let's do this only on a symbolic level, Sanzo-sama, as a goodwill gesture on both parts. I don't want to provoke your gods' wrath by corrupting you, their holy—"

"Xie-san," Sanzo spat, "_I_ am willing to pay _you_ for all the inconvenience my team may have caused your town."

"Uh?" Xie blinked, opening and closing his mouth in absolute surprise. "You? _You _want to pay _me_?"

"Add to your letter that I and my three teammates are under your protection." Sanzo reached for his golden coins and dropped four on the crested paper. "And that the youkai is free to go." A pile of five more coins was deposited near the pen. "Then go back to your party and forget that I was here."

"I—Sanzo-sama, I don't know what to say!"

"Of course, I, from now on, will also have only praise for Xie Dewei, the great Head of the Council who, one day, will bring electricity and civilization to this forgotten wilderness."

Xie Dewei stared in silence at the gold. Sanzo gave the man time to fight—and lose—the battle against temptation and whatever shred of righteousness he might still have. It did not take long.

"On behalf of the poor people of this poor town," Xie said, opening the top drawer of his desk and sweeping the coins into it, "I'll accept this money. It'll go to charity first thing in the morning."

Sanzo acknowledged the explanation with a curt bow, knowing very well that Gojyo's ransom would not have any destination but Xie's own vault. Not that he cared. Feeling filthy for literally having bought Gojyo's life, he walked back to the window. On the street, a gigantic float, with its dozens of red lanterns already lit, was saluted by a well-dressed audience. The bizarre scene seemed like something out of a nightmare.

"I can't approve this mixing with youkai, Sanzo-sama," Xie mumbled as he scribbled his note. "You're going to pester our good soldiers at the Anthill for nothing."

Nothing.

Sanzo rested his forehead on the window. He had called Gojyo a Nothing, had he not?

"Here, monk," Xie Dewei said after a short while. "Read it and tell me if it's enough for you."

Sanzo took the document, squinted at the inelegant, uneven ideograms and the wax seal below the signature. "_You_ tell me if this will be enough, Xie-san," he retorted, all pretense of politeness gone. "I don't want to knock on your prison's doors only to be told that you sold me a worthless piece of paper."

Xie jerked to his feet. "What I write is _law _here, foreigner. And I don't want you knocking on my door again to whine about some worthless demon."

"I can only pray I'll never come across your laws or stand at your door in the future, Xie Dewei." And without any departing words, Sanzo left the office. He elbowed past the overly painted matron who tried to accost him in the hallway and proceeded to cross the ballroom towards the front door when he recognized the figure lighting a string of red lanterns over the musicians' platform.

Wu Tai.

Laughing and chattering with a group of elderly ladies, dark uniform impeccable down to the precise angle of the sword tucked in his sash.

Barely controlling his anger, Sanzo strode to him. "Captain. What a surprise."

Wu Tai whirled around, smile fading.

"I thought I wouldn't have the pleasure of your company ever again," Sanzo commented, eyeing the lanterns. "Good thing you have so many of those, eh? No danger of spending a night in the dark."

"What are you doing _here_?" Wu Tai spluttered.

"Trying to clean up your shit, what else?" Sanzo bowed to Wu Tai's audience, noticing the blank faces. "Is the honorable Captain entertaining you with anecdotes of his heroic acts in the force? I do have a fascinating tale to tell you."

Wu Tai hurriedly climbed down from the platform and took Sanzo by his right arm. "Outside. Now."

Sanzo raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other to withdraw his hand. When an embarrassed Wu Tai complied, Sanzo theatrically wiped his sleeve as if the touch had soiled it. "No need to see me to the gate, Captain," he remarked. "And no need to worry about your … uh … honor. I have better things to do than shatter these good people's illusions. As for _yours_…" And he dropped his eyes to the sword. "They are pretty resistant, aren't they? So go back to your stage and your role."

If there was an answer, Sanzo did not hear it. He headed to the garden, relaxing a bit when, outside the main gate, among a cluster of horses and carts, he made out the skinny boy who had brought him to this house.

"I did what I could, monk," came the whisper at his back.

Sanzo sighed, annoyed. "If that was the case, Captain, why are you following me now? Piss off!"

"Listen, I didn't—" A new volley of fireworks muffled Wu Tai's words and Sanzo stepped aside to give way to an assemblage of 'dignitaries.'

"Spare me your lame excuses," he said. "I'm not interested."

"You don't understand!" Wu Tai insisted. "If I had sent for your youkai in the Anthill—"

"Then he would have to write a report admitting he has no control over his troops," intruded a cultured voice.

Sanzo turned to face a dark-haired man standing at his right.

_Evil. _

Such was the strength of the unexpected thought that he stepped back and reached for the scriptures on his shoulders.

The man only smiled.

"Colonel," Wu Tai saluted clumsily. "Sir, I—"

"Spare _me_ your lame excuses, Captain," the Colonel taunted. "_I _am not interested." He locked his eyes with Sanzo's. "So. You're the Gods' Chosen. The Sanzo who will bring peace to our land."

"This is Genjo Sanzo, Colonel," Wu Tai piped in. "He and his servants arrived in town last night and—"

"I suppose I have something that belongs to you, Sanzo-sama," the Colonel went on, ignoring Wu Tai. And at Sanzo's confused frown, he clarified, "I'm the officer responsible for the Anthill."

"In that case, Colonel…" And Sanzo extended Xie Dewei's note to him. "It's time to return what is mine."

The Colonel glanced at the paper but did not take it. "I'm off duty, Sanzo-sama. Why talk about business when this is a night for parties?"

Sanzo stilled. How could this man know what had transpired between himself and Xie Dewei? To the point he could paraphrase what had been said in that office, no less? Had he been spying on them? It was quite improbable that Xie Dewei would voluntarily allow someone to witness his corrupt dealings.

"So many questions, Sanzo-sama," the Colonel chided mockingly. "Why don't you do like Gojyo? Just … chill." And the gray eyes glinted in amusement.

"You're disobeying the Head of the Council's direct orders," Sanzo rasped. "Should we go to him now, and ask him to explain them to you?"

"_I _deal with Anthill business in the Anthill, monk. Our Head of the Council knows that already. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me…"

Heart lurching, Sanzo watched as the man disappeared inside the house, his reeling senses screaming a warning, over and over and over: Evil.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Goku advanced growling and shoved a pair of teenagers out of his way, rejoicing in their pained cries. The climb up of the long stairway had started fairly well, with the uniform and his feral expression parting the crowd that streamed down the steps to see the floats on the street below; but then the humans, excited by whatever new spectacle distracted their puny brains, had begun to stop and block his passage. And Goku was in no mood to excuse himself.

"Move," he barked into an older woman's ear.

The woman turned to him, annoyed, then blinked at the sight of the dark jacket. "Do you know what's happening, officer?" she asked nervously, pointing at something on the horizon. "Because—"

"I said _move_," he repeated in a lower, more dangerous tone.

She jumped hurriedly backwards, pressing a small boy against his mother and the mother against the precarious handrail. The women cursed at each other and Goku balled his fists, itching to throw them both down the steps. That would cause a glorious domino effect of bodies stumbling.

The thought sent a pleasant jolt to his groin and he chuckled maniacally before resuming his trudge up—always up, though he had no certain destination. His only goal was finding Sanzo. He _had_ to find Sanzo. Now. Otherwise he would succumb to the mad, wicked voice that whispered in his head that it would be _funny_, and _so_ _damn_ _good_ to kill one or two or three of these humans, or, better yet, _all of them… _

He moaned and touched his tented pants.

Shit, where _was_ Hakuryu?

"…in the youkai area," someone was saying, and Goku whirled around, surprised.

"Youkai area?" he asked to no one in particular. "How do you know that?"

"I was born in this town," a short man replied, his eyes intent in the distance. "So I ought to know where our youkai area is…" The fellow trailed off when he glanced over his shoulder and saw his dark-clad questioner. "Ah, uh, officer. Is there any problem we should worry about, sir?"

Confused, Goku finally looked past the mass of chattering people. The view was beautiful from such a height, with the late afternoon burnishing the rooftops in shining gold. Yet a gloomy sign marred the perfection of the scene: a pillar of black smoke rose from some point at the bottom of the hill, splitting the sky into two halves.

That was the reason for the humans' agitation.

A fire.

'In the youkai area.'

The misunderstanding had been Goku's own fault; nothing here had to do with Hakuryu whatsoever. Hakuryu was still missing.

He felt an elbow in his ribs, nudging him to the side, but, when he turned, the offender had already moved down. They were everywhere, these humans, this fucking plague, whether trying to keep in line as they bumped into each other, or losing their track at the slightest incident, disturbing the ones who followed behind them.

"Just like busy ants," he muttered to himself.

And gods, how he just wanted this over! Because the prospect of spending another day in this maze, climbing stairs up and down, wearing his boots into shreds, then his feet, then his knees, made him break into cold sweat.

He reached the top of the steps not bothering to check who he was pushing aside and forced his legs to carry him through the pathways of a park. Pebbled pathways.

He halted.

And, in dread, tilted up his head to study the area. The benches. The strings of lanterns hanging from the trees. The pebbled pathways, for fuck's sake! He recognized this place. He had ended up in the same park that Sanzo had conducted them to the previous night. If he kept on ahead, he would see Querulous-san's inn.

He had been walking in circles all the time.

Letting out a long keening sound, he reached for his headband with both hands. "Sanzo, please, help," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Please, please, I don't want to be here any more!"

(_So free us both from this hell_)

"I don't want to be afraid any more!" Goku went on, sniffling.

(_So make them kneel before us_)

"I—I don't want to think any more…"

(_So don't. Let instinct guide you_)

Goku opened his eyes. "But we will kill…"

(_Yes. And it will be good. It will be so good…_)

"No! Sanzo…"

(…_isn't here_)

"But Sanzo..."

(…_isn't here_)

Goku's whole body shook as his nails clicked against the metal headband. He was hungry, and frustrated, and aroused. And he knew that as soon as he removed his power limiter all his cravings would be immediately satisfied. "Free…" he hissed, erection pulsing and straining painfully. "I'll be free…"

(_Yes!_)

Then he felt it.

The _presence_.

_Her _presence_. _

He recoiled, all his exhilarating confidence lost. "Sanzo!" he howled. "Help! Sanzo! Don't let her take me to that place! I don't want to go back to that place—" He retreated, in blind panic. "I told you to stay away! I told you to leave me alone!"

_I didn't want to hurt you, _answered a soft voice. _Her_ voice. 

(_Liar! She wants to lock us in the cave again!_)

"Liar!" Goku spat. "You want to drag us—me—into your grave again! You want me to lose my mind!"

_No, _she soothed mildly. _Listen— _

(_Don't listen to her!_)

"We won't listen to you!" and Goku stepped back, barely aware of the commotion among the weak creatures who stared and pointed at him. "I told you to leave me alone!"

_You don't need to be alone_, she said. And her serene mental touch was similar to a cold hand on Goku's burning forehead. _Go to your friend. He needs you right now. _

(_Too bad. Because we don't need anyone!_)

"Friend?" Goku faltered. "Sanzo?"

(_Forget that pathetic monk. We don't need him!_)

"Shut up!" Goku screamed, tearing at his hair. "_You _don't need him, but _I _do. And there's no _we_. _I _am not _you_! So, stop telling me what to do!"

_The fortress on the top, Goku, _she whispered_. Don't forget. _

He stumbled and would have fallen if not for a stone bench.

(_I am what you're born to be. You're only a mere shadow of our true self!_)

"Shut up," Goku sobbed, over and over. "Shut up, shut up, shut up…"

How many minutes, hours, eternities, did he lean there, half-sitting half-laying, mumbling to himself? It was impossible to tell. But when Goku did become aware of his surroundings again, he noticed he was the object of interest of a large audience.

Exhausted, he rested his head on the bench seat. Mercifully, there were no voices in his head now, and no ghostly presences, except for a faint, seductive echo lingering in the air like a whiff of a good perfume: _Don't forget. _

He would not.

_Go to your friend. _

He would.

_The fortress on the top. _

Right.

His eyes focused numbly on the dots that splattered the ground.

Dark red dots.

Blood.

But not his.

Gasping, he suddenly grew interested in his surroundings again. That bush… And the bifurcated trunk of a tree with a cluster of lanterns…

Familiar…

…they were all familiar…

Gods, it had been in this exact place he had recovered Hakkai's and Gojyo's abandoned bags, right? It had been _here _he had called for…

"Hakuryu?" he breathed, bending to look under the bench.

And a pair of small red eyes locked into his.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"What are you doing up?"

Avoiding eye contact with the man who had poked his head through the door left ajar, Daiki bent carefully to retrieve his boots from under the bed. "Is the foreigner gone, Jiro-sama?" he asked.

"Yes." Jiro stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself. "Now, what are you doing up? I told you to rest."

"I must go, Jiro-sama," Daiki whispered. "I shouldn't have come. Father—"

"Sit down, we have an important subject to discuss." The order was given in a pleasant tone, but it was an order nonetheless, and Daiki sat on the large bed. Jiro let out a sigh and went to the window. "I remember telling you, time and time again, to keep as far away as possible from Wang Ushi," he said, his voice low. "Either the temptation was too strong or I wasn't clear enough." He pushed the latticed panels of the window open, letting the day's fading light stream in unhindered. "And though I have several important questions, one takes precedence over everything else. When did Wang Ushi learn about your existence?"

Daiki squirmed and balled his fists. "That was an accident, Jiro-sama. The fucker saw me with a … uh … colleague who lives in his boardinghouse. It was an accident; I had to help Eng Ho home last month and—"

"Last _month_?" Jiro interrupted incredulously. "Are you telling me that Wang Ushi, _Major_ Wang Ushi, _the_ Major Wang Ushi, former officer in charge of the Anthill, former official executor of the Anthill, has known about your existence since _last month_? What kind of lethal game have you been playing, boy?"

"He's only a crazy old goat, nobody pays attention to him," Daiki mumbled, glad for the swelling and bruises on his face that prevented him from clear speech and, by extension, from too elaborate explanations. "And I don't get close to his house when I'm wearing the uniform, ever. He doesn't—"

"Gods, I can't believe this!" Jiro cut him off again in a louder, angrier tone. "You don't get close to Wang Ushi in your uniform? Really? Uniform or not, since when are you a regular visitor to Wang Ushi's house? To Wang Ushi's _neighborhood_?"

"I'm not, Jiro-sama, I swear! Sometimes Eng Ho and I just—"

"Eng Ho and 'I'?" Jiro screeched. "How sweet that sounds!"

"He's a reliable source of information, Jiro-sama," Daiki answered, cringing. "And he didn't comment to the old man that I'm also serving in the force. He hates Wang Ushi; he barely greets the bastard nowadays. I think he's going to move…" and he trailed off, aware of how lame and childish his attempts at justification were coming out.

"So, a human has more common sense than you, is that what you're telling me?" Jiro demanded coldly. "Daiki, can you imagine how long it will take for Wang Ushi to contact his old pals if he suspects that the force was successfully infiltrated? And, crazy or not, don't you think his pals will at least investigate his denounces?"

"I've been careful, Jiro-sama! I've only—"

"You've 'only' stood provokingly at his gate this very afternoon as he screamed 'Youkai' at the top of his lungs," Jiro countered, drumming his long nails on the windowsill. "The scene attracted Cho Hakkai's attention to you and, therefore, brought him straight to us. There's a huge difference between being brave and being suicidal, boy. Or being simply careless."

Daiki did not respond, but seemed to grow smaller and younger in his cornered mortification. How could he admit to Jiro, who had spent the last sixty years secretly leading the youkai resistance, that his most trustful operative's cover had been blown because Daiki had gone out to drink beer with Eng Ho after a shift and the human had been too drunk to make it home by himself?

"I'm not angry at you for having friends in the force," Jiro said softly, disturbing the heavy silence that followed his accusations. "I'm just—"

"Eng Ho is _not_ my friend," Daiki growled, then pressed his right hand to his ribs. "I'm _not _friends with humans, Jiro-sama. Eng Ho works in Wu Tai's station; he's our best bet for information—"

"Daiki. Whatever your reasons were, you should have come to me and told me about Wang Ushi having outed you."

"Then you would have made me abandon my mission," Daiki rasped, casting Jiro a guilty look. "And I can't do that, Jiro-sama. Father—"

"Everything comes down to Zuoji with you, right?" Jiro replied softly. "You're so desperate to have your father's approval that you're willing to be killed rather than let him discover that things aren't going as he planned."

Daiki blinked back tears. "Please, Jiro-sama, don't take this away from me. Please, let me continue to help our people. Let me make a difference!"

"You've already made a difference, boy." Jiro held up a hand to forestall more protests. "Besides, I never, _ever_, condoned this idea of sending you into the tiger's den. Contrary to what Zuoji or Ojii-sama may have hammered into your head, you're not expendable."

Daiki grimaced. "But I am!"

"Oh, child…" Jiro shook his head, smiling sadly. "I've heard similar words once. And the ending of that story broke my heart forever."

Daiki gaped as Jiro glided to the laden vanity table at their right and retrieved an ivory comb.

"I was the same age as you are now when I met Houchi," Jiro said, sitting at the mirror. "You must have heard the name mentioned countless times."

"Ojii-sama's younger son," Daiki croaked.

"And his father's son he was, all right." Jiro loosened the ribbon that tied back his hair and the sleek mass tumbled past his waist like a mantle. "You see, when my family came to this town, humans and youkai were still battling each other for lands. We had money, so it wasn't difficult to find a comfortable position, even when the main road debacle started. I met Houchi at a party by chance; Ojii-sama wanted him on the town's Council, and both were working hard to mobilize the youkai community." Jiro paused, eyes glittering, then started combing his hair with slow, patient strokes. "I fell hard, Daiki. I didn't care about politics at the time. Actually, I used to argue with Houchi about his dedication to a cause that clearly was not his. My reaction to Ojii-sama's obsession with this barren hill was similar to Son Goku's: Why not simply go away and find another place to live?"

"Ojii-sama founded this town for us," Daiki offered mildly, fascinated by those long strands. "It's his legacy to our kind."

Jiro snorted. "Ah, yes. Funny, isn't it, that he managed to bathe this land in blood and sow it with bones, including his own children's. His 'legacy' is a pile of corpses."

Uncomfortable, Daiki shifted his attention to his bare feet. "Did Ojii-sama step in between you and his son?"

"Do you believe that my resentment towards Ojii-sama is due to my condition of a scorned lover?" Jiro asked, sounding amused. "No, Daiki, Ojii-sama didn't intervene. At first, I was nothing but Houchi's fancy plaything, or so he thought. Only when Houchi refused to marry an influential youkai woman—a woman Ojii-sama himself had chosen—did things get nasty. To the point where Houchi feared for my life. He knew his father had no qualms regarding murder."

Daiki jerked his head up, meeting Jiro's intent eyes in the mirror. "Did Ojii-sama try to kill you, Jiro-sama?"

"In a certain way he did kill me, Daiki."

"What? I don't—"

"Houchi was Ojii-sama's last hope for reassuming control over 'his town.' Shaiming, his favorite son, had died stupidly in a street brawl. Another son, I don't even remember his name, suffered from a severe mental illness. There were the really older ones, the children Ojii-sama had fathered before coming to this land, but he didn't care about those. And there were two daughters, whom Ojii-sama despised. One, in particular, was very dear to Houchi. She had eloped with a human and lived on the coast; Ojii-sama, very predictably, never forgave her the affront. When she came to visit—and she would come almost every year for Houchi's birthday—she had to get rooms in human inns. No youkai would receive her." The comb stopped mid-stroke. "Houchi used to take us both to picnics under the moonlight when she was around. Her name was Lien."

Daiki opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of a proper reply.

"You can imagine the powder keg upon which we three were dancing at the time," Jiro continued. "There were rumors everywhere about humans mobilizing an army while Ojii-sama exhorted youkai to fight for 'their homeland.' The air practically sizzled with tension that autumn. Then, on the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday, Houchi came to me and told me to pack my things. He was going to deliver an urgent message for Ojii-sama to a nearby village and that would be the last errand he would run for his father. Afterwards, we would go away." Jiro turned on his seat to face Daiki. "That very night Xie Haifu ordered the Youkai Massacre," he whispered. "Haifu's men raided the whole town, especially the mixed areas, killing or arresting every youkai or 'youkai lover' they found. My family's house was spared—as well as a few others that belonged to the youkai elite. Lien, on the other hand, was caught alone and unprotected among the humans and sent to the Anthill. When Houchi learned about his sister's death he simply went … berserk. He blamed himself. And he blamed _me_. I had written to her, advising her to stay away from this town; however, according to Houchi, such a warning only had made her rush to us, out of concern." Jiro studied his comb, pulling off a few loose strands that had stuck in it. "Of course, Houchi never believed my version of the facts. He never believed that Ojii-sama was behind everything."

"Ojii-sama!" Daiki exclaimed, aghast. "That's not possible! I mean… How could he?"

"My theory? Ojii-sama knew beforehand about Xie Haifu's extermination plans, perhaps even contributed to them, and manipulated things to set the date at his convenience. He sent Houchi out of the town and arranged for us not to hear of Lien's arrival. My own letter of alert to her may have been intercepted." Jiro shrugged. "It makes sense, _ne_? With Lien's death, Ojii-sama had Houchi as his puppet again. He also managed to exact his revenge on Lien for defying him, and on me, for daring to put myself between him and his goals." Jiro laughed mirthlessly and pointed to the mirror. "Oh, here, look at your face, Daiki. I know it's hard to believe… Zuoji doesn't accept this version, either. He calls me paranoid. Be that as it may, that was the first and last time I underestimated Ojii-sama."

"'There is no such thing as coincidence?'" Daiki quoted in a subdued voice.

Jiro nodded. "Precisely. After Lien's ordeal, Houchi started spilling his father's old drivel about the 'cause' and about our 'mission' against the 'human scourge.' It was sixty years ago, Daiki, but I still can hear him parroting those words to me. We never left, of course. Houchi had his sister's death to avenge." He stood and went back to the window. "Less than one year after Lien's death, Houchi was also arrested and taken to the Anthill. I still have nightmares about what was done to him there." Jiro started sticking the ends of his loose hair in a hole on the outside wall. "For the birds," he murmured, noticing Daiki's surprise. "They use them to make nests."

Daiki acknowledged the explanation with a short "Oh," then tried to pick one of his boots up with the toes of his left foot. He felt terribly out of place in this bedroom—his father's bedroom, for all he knew—listening to Jiro talk about his past as if they were close friends.

"What is your dream, Daiki?" Jiro asked abruptly.

Daiki startled and the boot fell back on the floor. "Uh?"

"Your dream," Jiro insisted. "What do you want the most in your life?"

"To help our people," Daiki answered hesitantly. "My mission—"

"No." The reprimand was very mild. "Something for you."

"Yanan," Daiki answered, tilting up his chin. Yanan—older, poor, mutilated—was a choice his father frowned upon.

"Zuoji doesn't like her," Jiro remarked evenly, echoing Daiki's thoughts. "But not because he's concerned about your future with an inadequate wife. He fears that she's going to distract you from your 'mission.'"

Daiki lowered his head, humiliated. "Yeah… I suppose."

"I lost everything the day Houchi died, Daiki," Jiro stated as he headed to an unobtrusive bureau near the door. "My dreams. My future. Everything was just … gone." He opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden box. "In the end? I stayed here. I stayed because I couldn't—and I still can't—bear the idea of being separated from the man I loved. So I joined forces with Ojii-sama and Zuoji—Zuoji, who also ended up losing a son in this senseless battle."

"Father never recovered from Gihei's death," Daiki murmured softly.

"And he never will. I'm sorry, Daiki, but you will never be Gihei to him. As Zuoji will never be Houchi to me." Jiro smiled at Daiki's surprised expression. "What, you didn't know we are together?"

Wide-eyed, Daiki shook his head. "Look," he stammered, "I don't want—"

"—to know what transpires between your father and me in this very room? Fair enough." Jiro cradled the box he held closer to his body. "What I'm trying to say to you is that you're struggling to secure something that will never be yours. That's why I want you to take Yanan and go east."

Despite his injuries, Daiki jumped to his feet. "Jiro-sama, I can't," he protested. "My duty—"

"Your _duty_? Since you can't live up to your father's expectations, are you going to die for them?"

"I—I can't simply _go_—"

"Why not?" Jiro demanded. "Daiki, why not? The only duty you have is to yourself and the one you love. I don't want to see you share Houchi's fate. Or Gihei's. Or _mine._ Don't let _them_ take your dreams away. It's time to break the circle."

"But… What will happen to you? And to father? And the youkai in this town?"

"We aren't your responsibility. And your 'mission' is over at any rate. I won't allow you to go back to your post, now that your cover is blown."

"Jiro-sama, I still can get information for you. I can—"

"Did it never occur to you that we could have recruited a _human_ to do your job?"

Daiki paused, mid-rant. "Human?"

"A much safer choice," Jiro answered. "I've tried to convince Ojii-sama of this for ages, but he wouldn't even _hear _of such a blasphemy, never mind consider it. Zuoji went to the lengths of marrying a dark-eyed foreigner, in order to conceive dark-eyed children who he and Ojii-sama would mold to their purposes. They've been tinkering with your destiny since before you were born, Daiki."

"Did… Did my mother know that?" Daiki asked, shocked.

"Yes. And for the 'greater good' her life was also destroyed. Because Zuoji felt nothing for her and never made a secret of it."

"Father was always very fond of Gihei," Daiki commented, stressing the name with a sour inflection.

"Because Gihei took after him," Jiro summarized with a humorless smile. "I remember when Zuoji, between proud and very angry, put his firstborn in my arms. And how I laughed when the baby peered up at me with those big red eyes of his. Gihei was useless to Ojii-sama's 'cause,' but he was Zuoji's spitting image."

"I, on the other hand…"

"You took after your mom. She was a beautiful, kind woman. I liked her very much; sometimes I think that I can hear her singing in the backyard. I always pray for her, then; ask her to look after us all."

Daiki wet his cut lips. "Yet… Yet, I can understand father's and Ojii-sama's distrust towards humans, Jiro-sama. We've suffered—"

"Not all of 'them' are monsters, Daiki. Not even all of your 'colleagues' are monsters. Is Eng Ho a monster?"

Silence.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Jiro whispered, and Daiki raised his bloodshot eyes to him. "It hurts to know. To question. It hurts."

Daiki flexed his hands, trying to conciliate everything he had heard. "Did you have any confirmation about Xie Dewei's dealings tonight?" he asked after a while, changing the thorny personal subjects to a more practical one.

"Yes," Jiro grunted. "As customary, our Head of the Council is entertaining guests for the Festival. And he has set his sights on grandiose profits this year. He intends to use the fear brought by the rumors of youkai cannibalism and violence to propose the creation of an integrated army in this region. Armed by him and trained by his officers. Basically, Xie Dewei is going to export his weapons and his force's extermination methods."

"Jiro-sama, what are we going to do?" In panic, Daiki bent over and seized his boots. "We must stop him! We must—"

Jiro laughed and approached him. "Aren't you curious about the contents of this box? Here, take it. It's yours."

Warily, Daiki accepted the gift and opened it.

Money.

Jiro was giving him money. Lots of it.

"I've sent a message to Yanan," Jiro said softly. "She's already packed and is waiting for you at her parents' workshop."

"What?" Daiki spluttered. "How did you…?"

"How did I know you would choose her?" Jiro grinned. "I didn't even need my _chi_. Your face lights up when she's around."

"Jiro-sama, I can't simply run away like a coward! I won't—"

"Look at the window, Daiki."

Daiki hesitated, but obeyed. What could be seen of the street was deserted. And the sky… The sky was growing black with smoke. "What the hell?"

"This disease," Jiro murmured. "This Madness… It's spreading and spreading fast. Right now, I don't know what's in store for any of us. Perhaps… Perhaps we'll finally have the epic battle Ojii-sama has longed for."

Daiki went to Jiro and extended the box to him. "It's my battle too, Jiro-sama. Take this back."

"No. Let Yanan be your battle, Daiki. Let life be your battle. You owe us nothing." Jiro leaned forward and brushed his lips on Daiki's forehead. "Just go. You have my blessing."

"Jiro-sama, I can't…"

"Go. It's my last order for you."

Confused, Daiki lingered in the room for a moment; then he left, carrying his boots and the box.

"Good-bye, my son," Jiro said. Then sat again at the vanity table and reached for the comb.

**o o o **

Zuoji found him there, in the same position, two hours later. "Gods, Ji-chan, why didn't you light the lanterns? It's dark in here!"

"I like the dark," came the muffled answer.

"There's fire in the youkai area, didn't you see it? Look through the window! Where's Daiki? I'm going to send him to his station to get us news—"

"He's gone."

"Where to? Did he—"

"He's gone for good. Won't come back." A pause and Jiro smiled, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "Funny, _ne_? That's what Houchi said to me when he proposed we went away together: 'We'll be gone for good. Won't come back.' Then it was _me_ who had to say that to him: '_She_ won't come back.' Over and over and over."

Zuoji froze and then went to rest both hands on Jiro's shoulders. "Hey. I know you're angry with me because of that stupid boy." He started a slow, careful massage. "But, damn, Ji-chan! What a time for him to arrive! I'm still horny."

"The world, as we know it, it's ending and you still want to have sex?"

"Yes," Zuoji said. "I would die gladly if I had my cock stuck in you." Jiro was totally unresponsive to the touch, so Zuoji dropped his hands. "What was he willing to tell me, anyway? What was so important?"

Jiro canted his head to the side. "I hate Ojii-sama, Zuoji. I hate that bastard. But I never wanted revenge. Killing him would not turn back time."

"Why think about that _now_?" Zuoji remarked, frustrated. "It's no longer important! As you said, our world is ending! Why bring this—"

"Because I stayed here, Zuoji. All these years, all these decades… I stayed here to try to prevent others from dying for Ojii-sama's whims. Now…" Jiro turned, his eyes aglow like embers in the dark room. "If my mind is gone… _When_ my mind is gone… I won't have a conscience to tell me what's right or wrong. Then, Zuoji, with the last sparkle of will I'll have left, I'm going to kill _him_."

Zuoji stepped back, startled. "What… What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to kill Ojii-sama, Zuoji. And the best part?" Jiro unclenched his fingers and the comb clattered on the floor, its handle shattering. "I'm going to enjoy it."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Bathed in cold sweat, Hakkai grabbed the white fence with both hands and scrunched his eyes shut. Unable to find transportation on his own, he had had no choice but to return to Wang Ushi's boarding house and depend on Sanzo's previous arrangement with the old man's nephew. He _needed_ to find transportation as soon as possible. Because he was going to the Anthill.

After Jiro's horror tale, there was no other alternative. Sanzo's fury or not, human contingents at their minimum or not, Hakkai would rescue Gojyo. Or die trying.

Though _how _he was going to perform such a deed was yet to be determined. His body had reached its absolute limit—the walk back to this place had solely been achieved through willpower. It also did not help that in the past half-hour, his vision had tunneled down to a gray corridor.

A corridor that grew narrower and darker with the approaching night.

He let out a groan of sheer frustration when his knees buckled under him.

"Whoa!" A strong hand clasped his forearm, breaking his fall. "What are you doing outside, eh? You should be resting, hon."

That voice… Hakkai struggled to wrench his arm free and Zhou Jun laughed and loosened his grip, allowing him to slide to the ground.

"You are so cute crumpled at my feet, Hakkai," came the amused comment. "Your name is Hakkai, right? I heard Sanzo calling you that, though the dear boy didn't want to introduce us properly. He's jealous, I suspect. I'm Sergeant Zhou Jun. We met this morning, remember? You were pretty out of everything. Now you're just … pretty."

Hakkai squinted up. Framed by the reddened sky, Zhou Jun towered over him with his arms akimbo and a confident smirk on his face. He was not wearing his uniform. "What do you want?" Hakkai whispered, stomach churning furiously. "We have enough problems—"

"Oh, yeah, you have problems. Gojyo is still in prison, the poor thing. Now, to answer your question…" Zhou Jun made a dramatic pause, then added, "I have a hot date with your monk tonight. Am I looking good? This shirt is brand new."

"Sanzo is not here," Hakkai rasped. "He left town."

"Really?" Zhou Jun said in an amused tone. "I don't think so. He wouldn't leave you behind; not after going through so much trouble to get you back." He reached out to play with Hakkai's sweaty hair. "He wouldn't leave either you or beautiful Gojyo to the, uh … wolves."

"You're—"

"Bad? Disgusting?" Zhou Jun wriggled his eyebrows, as he made a show of scenting and licking Hakkai's sweat from his fingers. "Sexy?"

"Pathetic," Hakkai mumbled, feeling trapped.

"I've been called worse, hon. You have to try harder. The harder you are on me, the harder I am."

Trying to ignore that maddening smirk, Hakkai steadied his grip on the fence and started the formidable task of hauling himself up. He had to find the old man's nephew and get away from this place. Before Wang Ushi decided to out him as 'youkai' to whoever cared to hear, in a reprise of this afternoon's episode. Zhou Jun would not be oblivious like the young soldier who lived in the house… Not after learning that his 'hot date' had indeed escaped his clutches.

"Are you sure you don't want me to give you a hand?" Zhou Jun said. "Or maybe, uh, head?"

"Don't quit your day job, Sergeant," Hakkai answered through gritted teeth. "You're a terrible comedian."

Zhou Jun sighed in mock dejection. "Yeah, I know. Fortunately I found myself a career that I'm quite good at. I'm paid to make lowly demons scream."

Hakkai bit back the juvenile retort about 'lowly' being indeed Zhou Jun's level of expertise, and, with a quick move, managed to propel his body to what could pass for a standing position.

"You know," Zhou Jun added, stepping closer, "I would love to hear _you_ scream. But not necessarily in pain."

"Sir! Are you all right?"

Blinking to focus, Hakkai raised his head to look over the fence. The younger Wang was crossing the garden towards them. In the undistinguishable shadows behind the human, a small flame flickered, floated, and grew into a yellowed light that flooded the entrance. Hakkai tensed, digging his nails into the rotten wood, unable to see who was holding that lantern at the door. The young soldier was taller than that, wasn't he?

"I was worried, sir, you simply disappeared!" Wang Po pushed the gate open, acknowledging Zhou Jun's presence with a quick bow. "Officer."

"Wang Po-san," Zhou Jun greeted neutrally. "Aren't you going to the festivities tonight? You'll miss the parades."

"I'll go later," Wang Po answered. "I have all night."

"Yes, very true," Zhou Jun drawled, and Hakkai knew he was going to spill more dirty innuendoes. "But when a man is late for his nightly parties he may find the best seats already taken."

"Seats?" Wang Po repeated, at a loss. "Officer, as far as I know, there are no seats. We have to stand—"

"Standing is good, very good indeed," Zhou Jun continued in mock seriousness. "But _seating_? Wang Po-san, what on earth beats the pleasure of resting one's weight on one's ass?"

Wang Po giggled like a nervous girl. "I'm not sure if I'm following—"

"Though, I admit, sometimes a man gets lucky, even if he's late. He may stumble on an excellent seat, best view ever, abandoned by some fool." Zhou Jun leered at Hakkai. "Do you know the saying 'Finders keepers,' Wang Po-san?"

"Uh, yes?" Wang Po stuttered.

Zhou Jun laughed and tapped Wang Po on the shoulder. "So, never go wandering around, Wang Po-sama. Never, ever, abandon your seat."

"I—I won't, officer. I, er … won't."

"Excellent," Zhou Jun beamed. "Now, let me say good evening to our Major. I need to know if my reserved seat for tonight is still available."

Dreading the upcoming scene, Hakkai followed with blurring eyes Zhou Jun's progress across the front garden. "Wang Po-san?" he whispered. "Is that your uncle at the door?"

"Sir? Can't you—why, yes. Zhou Jun-sama is talking to him now. Are you all right? You seem—"

"Did you find me transportation?" Hakkai rasped with urgency. "Sanzo—the monk told me he arranged things with you."

"He did, sir," Wang Po said. "I talked to a friend and he was going to lend me his horse for the afternoon. But—" Zhou Jun's loud "What?" interrupted the explanation. Wang Po whirled around, frightened. "Shit, uncle upset Zhou Jun-sama _again_."

"But?" Hakkai pressed. "Wang Po-san? What were you going to say about the horse?"

"I'm not sure if the horse was hired to someone else, sir," Wang Po mumbled, sounding distracted. "The demand is high during the Festival and I didn't go back there to confirm the deal. I thought you had gone away, I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Can you go and see to that for me right now?" Hakkai asked, panic still under control. "Wang Po-san?"

"Uh?"

"The horse. I _need _that horse."

The pair at the door was now silent. Wang Po put some distance between himself and Hakkai, looking back and forth, sensing danger. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

Hakkai cursed when Zhou Jun's tall form began walking back to the gate, the previous gait replaced by purposeful strides. He fumbled for the gold coin Sanzo had given him with shaky fingers and showed it to Wang Po. "Please, I need that horse now, Wang Po-san. Go fetch it."

Wang Po cast a cornered look at the approaching Zhou Jun. Then at the coin. Then at Zhou Jun. Then at the coin.

"_Come on_!" Hakkai snarled, trying to gather his _ki_. It was impossible. He moaned and sagged against the fence. "Please…"

"All right," Wang Po growled, seizing the coin and darting away.

"Why, hon," Zhou Jun crooned as he grabbed Hakkai's right arm. "It seems you told me the truth, after all. Sanzo left."

Hakkai swallowed dry. And that was all the old man had told him? No word about his demonic nature? "Take your hands off me," he ordered coldly.

"Hmm, I don't think so." Zhou Jun tightened his grasp and started to drag Hakkai to the gate without bothering to help him to his feet. "You know, I'm horny since I laid my eyes and hands on your Sanzo," he commented, deflecting Hakkai's awkward attempt to throw a punch. "How am I supposed to go back home with nothing but a case of blue balls, eh? My missus isn't hot like him. Or you." Hakkai tried to resist, but Zhou Jun was used to dealing with frantic weak demons. He latched one arm around Hakkai's waist and wrapped the other around his neck, choking him. To Hakkai's mortification, the human was indeed able to manhandle him across the front garden with relative ease. "I'm not a nice guy when I'm angry," Zhou Jun whispered in Hakkai's ear. "But I'll be kind to you, if you're good to me. You're so cute in your own right that I'm ready to forgive and thank Sanzo for such a gift."

Hakkai dug his heels into the ground, managing to slow down their progress. "…won't…"

"Oh, you _will_." And Zhou Jun pressed his erection against Hakkai's buttocks. "Are you feeling _that_, pretty one? You _will_."

"Inside," Wang Ushi's excited voice urged. "Zhou Jun, take it inside."

Zhou Jun grunted and slipped a hand between Hakkai's legs, squeezing unmercifully. Hakkai writhed in agony and was carried to the parlor held by his neck and genitals.

"Use my room," Wang Ushi cried. "Bring it there!"

Zhou Jun stopped for a moment, locking his arms on Hakkai's chest. "Okay, now breathe, love. I didn't want to hurt you, but you were being difficult." Hakkai coughed and tried to fill his aching lungs. "Yep, in and out, in and out, that's how it's done. Do you know that asphyxiation increases your pleasure? Maybe we can experiment with that, eh?"

"Zhou Jun, hurry! Bring it here!"

Zhou Jun sneered and kissed Hakkai's sweaty face. "See, love? The old man also thinks you are beautiful. I've never seen him so eager. Not that the fucker will be able to … uh …fuck. But don't worry, hon; _I _won't disappoint you."

Out of sheer desperation, Hakkai threw his head back, hitting Zhou Jun in the mouth. Insufferable pain threatened to plunge him into oblivion for several seconds, but he felt the embrace loosening. Then he was on the floor.

Unrestrained.

Youkai instincts taking over, Hakkai crawled towards the door. He attempted to bite the hand that pulled him back by his hair, tried to bite it even when it slapped him violently, even when immovable strength pinned him down, prone on the floor, and gathered his wrists together, securing them. Past coherent speech, he roared and bucked like a wild thing and when the cruel hands let him go he pushed himself into a corner, baring his teeth. His vision was limited to shapeless shadows and points of light now.

Someone laughed.

"Damn, you almost let it escape! You're an idiot, Zhou Jun."

"Fuck, look at him, Wang-san. The little shit has spirit."

Hakkai struggled uselessly to focus his tearing eyes, his monocle barely balanced on the tip of his nose.

"That's why I'm telling you to fuck it in my room. We can tie its legs to the footboard in a handy position for you."

"Do you have more rope?"

"Yes. Give me a few minutes. Keep an eye on your bitch."

Hakkai felt hushed footsteps through the floorboards. Was he lying on the floor again? His head hurt, hurt so much… His head was going to explode into a million pieces at any given minute.

"Oh, look at you, hon," Zhou Jun crooned. "You're a mess."

Hakkai cringed at the feeling of fingers in his hair—caressing fingers.

"Blame your monk for all of this," Zhou Jun was saying. "I would have left you alone."

"… get … out…" Hakkai slurred. Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating and needed to _calm down._

The intrusive fingers were transferred to his fly. "Relax, hon," Zhou Jun murmured softly. "You're in for a hell of a ride. And it's not like you have any say in the matter, anyway. So … relax."

An outraged howl escaped Hakkai's dry throat when his bruised penis was exposed and fondled.

"So cute! You know, I'll make you respond to me," Zhou Jun promised, panting against Hakkai's abdomen. "A finger in your ass teasing the right spot… And then you'll be begging for it. Have you ever been taken by a man before? I would love to be your first, though Sanzo seems the kind of guy who doesn't let good opportunities pass by."

"I'm going to kill you!"

Zhou Jun leaned in and traced Hakkai's nose with the tip of his tongue, pushing his monocle back in place. "You're already killing me, love. I'm so ready for you—"

"Paws off!" Hakkai cried, frantic.

"You heard the man, Zhou Jun," a new voice intruded upon their little drama. "Paws off."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Zhou Jun whirled in the direction of the door, then quickly jerked to his feet, releasing his prey. "Sergeant! What—what are you doing here? I mean—"

"_Sergeant_?" the newcomer drawled, stepping further into the house. "It seems you still haven't had time to become comfortable with our new situation, Zhou Jun."

"Uh, yeah, I… I'm still adapting, Chen Dan-sama." Without turning his back to Chen Dan, Zhou Jun withdrew to the center of the room. "Everything came as a big surprise. But you're here for Major Wang Ushi, right? I'm going to call him."

"Oh, no, Zhou Jun," Chen Dan said as he drew a gun from under his jacket. "I'm here for _you_. Stay where you are."

Zhou Jun stilled. "How—"

"My men told me you would be here, sniffing around a certain monk. They're good, loyal soldiers who know you set me up. One of them even lent me his weapon." Ignoring Zhou Jun's stuttered protests, Chen Dan smirked down at Hakkai, still on the floor, still struggling to sit. "Why, hello, dirty punk. How's your head? Fuck, Zhou Jun, you like to eat my scraps, don't you?"

"A hole is a hole, Chen Dan-sama," Zhou Jun answered in a lame attempt of nonchalance. "And it's not like I'm going to marry any of them, _ne_? Now… Do you realize you're endangering your friend's career by borrowing and displaying his weapon like that? It's expressly forbidden to—"

"Don't start lecturing me on the force's regulations, you son of a bitch," Chen Dan interrupted with a furious hiss. "I'm quite aware of our regs about weaponry. As for my friend's career… No need to worry about it. It's quite safe. Because _you _are not going to spill your venom to anyone anymore."

"Listen, Chen Dan-sama, I didn't—"

"What you did, Zhou Jun…" Chen Dan shook his head, incredulous. "What you did! You used a fellow soldier, a soldier who only wanted to carry out his duty, for personal gain. And the worst part? I don't believe it was because you wanted my position. You destroyed my life to get yourself more available 'holes' to stick your dick in."

"I didn't betray you," Zhou Jun denied in a weak voice. "I—I really thought those new laws about youkai were about to change. I'm sure I heard or read that somewhere. Captain Wu Tai told me… It was Captain Wu Tai…"

Chen Dan frowned, eyes blazing; then he laughed, in a shocking mixture of anger and amusement. "Buddha! Captain Wu Tai told _you_? Since when are you best pals with him? Spare me your sniveling. You're not even man enough to admit what you did. You're not even man enough to take responsibility for your actions."

Zhou Jun held up his hands in the air pleadingly. "Why don't you put down that gun so we can talk, Chen Dan-sama? Please? I know—"

"Talk? I already made the mistake of listening to you, Zhou Jun." And Chen Dan cocked the hammer, the noise ominous in the heavy silence. "On your knees. You don't deserve to die standing. You'll die on all fours, like an animal."

"I… Please, Chen Dan-sama, hear me out…"

"On your knees, beast!"

Zhou Jun complied, sweat running profusely down his pale face. Chen Dan glanced at Hakkai, still on the floor. "What do you say, punk?" he sneered, aiming his gun at Zhou Jun's groin. "Should I castrate the stud before I waste him?" With a panicky growl, Zhou Jun covered his groin with both hands. "Gods, you're a waste of space," Chen Dan went on, drinking in his enemy's terror. "We're having a riot in and spreading from the youkai area, did you know that? Corporal Mou was organizing a patrol when I left the station. Those men will be out there without any authoritative command, because their new immediate superior officer is more concerned about foreigners' asses than their lives. Isn't that so?"

"It's a holiday, Chen Dan-sama," Zhou Jun whined, words barely stumbling out. "And I—I didn't know about … about the riot…"

Chen Dan snorted. "No wonder. With so many urgent things in your head and all that."

"Killing—killing me won't give you your job back," Zhou Jun spluttered.

"True," Chen Dan said evenly. "But I would be doing my force comrades and your poor suffering wife a huge favor." A short pause and he added, "I have nothing else to lose, Zhou Jun. You saw to it, remember?"

Zhou Jun wet his lips, eyes darting everywhere. Then he expelled a long wheezing breath through his mouth. "I—I'll give you money."

"I don't care about money, scum," Chen Dan replied, sounding amused. "And even if I did… You don't have any."

"Old Wang does. A lot."

"Right. And that's why he's living his last days in such a crumbling house."

"Yes. Exactly. That bastard embezzled money from the force for years when he was in charge of the Anthill. An amount that would put even our Head of the Council to shame."

Chen Dan just raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess the rest," he said mockingly. "The old major felt so guilty afterwards that he had to confess his crimes to you."

"I worked in the force's Treasury for two years," Zhou Jun said in a calmer, stronger voice. "We collected taxes, fines, and donations, dividing them among the entire corporation in order of importance. As you know, the Anthill was always a case apart, with its bigger budget and separate accounts. Money was—still is—handed over to them without any questions asked. No one, except for their own personnel, has access to their books."

"Of course it took a smart guy like yourself to break into their security." Chen Dan turned to Hakkai, who, still in his corner, had managed to sit. "Are you paying attention to this, punk? Maybe he'll find a role for you in his tale, too."

"They transferred part of the Anthill's archives to the Treasury after the earthquake," Zhou Jun continued. "I was the one designated to put their papers back into some semblance of order and file them. Most of those documents were decades old and deemed worthless relics; so much so that the Colonel didn't care about having them back. But I was curious, and I started cross-referencing whatever data of theirs I could get with our own older archives. I couldn't believe it when I saw the numbers."

Chen Dan laughed again. "And you did that just out of curiosity, eh? I believe your selfless motivations, Zhou Jun, of course I do. And then you simply inferred that Major Wang Ushi—who, by that time was already on reserve duty—was the culprit?" His expression grew somber again. "How convenient, to blame a sick old man."

"He was responsible for the Anthill's accounts for more than three decades," Zhou Jun responded, "and for at least two and a half he bled the force's resources. Nobody else would be able to pull off such a trick, Chen Dan-sama." Zhou Jun shifted his weight from one knee to the other. "I came here to confront him last year. He denied everything, but… But he has been very … accommodating with my, er … requests since then. Even with the unusual ones."

"What do you mean?" Chen Dan demanded with impatience.

Zhou Jun stared up. "If he's clean, why didn't he simply report me for harassment, Chen Dan-sama?"

"Maybe he's worried about his reputation," Chen Dan countered. "A scandal like this—"

"Chen Dan-sama," Zhou Jun interrupted softly. "Our Anthill hotshots would _never_ allow a member of their echelon to be involved in a public scandal. My accusations against the old major wouldn't be aired. No one, even our more liberal politicians, would want to deal with the Colonel's wrath. What happens in the Anthill is kept in the Anthill and is dealt with in the Anthill—you know _that_. Odds were that I would be killed on the spot, followed by old Major Wang Ushi, after some investigation."

"Who cares anyway?" Chen Dan commented grudgingly after a while. "I certainly don't. I'm not for sale, Zhou Jun, so you can shove—"

"Zhou Jun, you pervert," a brittle voice intruded from the hallway, "why are you taking so long? Bring the bitch. I've got the ropes and even a special toy…" Wang Ushi trailed off when he came upon the static scene in his living room.

"Ah, Major Wang," Chen Dan greeted, eyeing the old man with disdain. Wang Ushi was shirtless, barefooted and had a grotesquely large wooden phallus in his hands. "Please, do give us the pleasure of your company."

"What are you doing in my house?" Wang Ushi cried. "Get out!"

"You know, I always wondered why an honored officer like yourself put up with scum like Zhou Jun," Chen Dan murmured, his eyes on the dildo. "Now, it seems you both are a perfect complement to each other." He signaled to the left with his gun. "Move."

Wang Ushi complied, fuming. "What do you want here, trash? You come to my house and think you have the right to judge me? You're a—"

"I am a _soldier_, old man," Chen Dan spat. "I hunt and destroy demons so that they won't hunt and destroy our homeland. And don't you dare call me names again; look at what _I_ have in my hands and what _you_ have in yours."

"Oh, you're a demon hunter, are you?" Wang Ushi mocked, clicking his tongue. "_I_ was already hunting and killing demons before your father was born, little shit, so I will call you whatever I want. Especially in my own house."

"You were also busy taking money from our soldiers and their families," Chen Dan replied with disdain. "Isn't it so?"

Wang Ushi glared at Zhou Jun for a moment and burst into laughter.

"Good to know you think that's funny," Chen Dan said, raising his voice. "Because I intend to denounce you to our authorities."

"Pity you aren't an 'authority' any more, hmm?" Wang Ushi wiped saliva from his mouth, still sniggering. "You know, _soldier_," he taunted, stressing the word, "when my comrades and I hunted… We didn't have fancy guns like that beauty you're holding. We had to engage demons using knives or clubs and, sometimes, our very fists. We reeked of youkai in the old times—uniforms, hair, everything stunk. Hell, sometimes we even drank their blood to increase our strength." His sneer grew wider at Chen Dan's grimace of repulse. "Oh, do you think that disgusting? I remember as if it were yesterday the first time I was made to drink youkai blood by my lieutenant." He caressed the wooden phallus. "It was _that_ that separated real men from little boys back then, soldier. So? Fuck you. Fuck you and the high horse you ride. You're a pathetic pussy who can't even identify your enemy!"

"I've apprehended thirteen youkai in this area during the last two months, old man," Chen Dan countered, incensed. "I've expanded my troops' patrols to farms and roads. Have you ever captured thirteen demons in so short a time, even when they abounded in this region?"

Wang Ushi nodded, his expression smug. "Oh, your, uh … record? is impressive, indeed. But do you really know what a youkai is, soldier?" And he focused his rheumy eyes on Hakkai.

Zhou Jun's surprised "You've got to be kidding me!" was muffled by Chen Dan's much louder and angrier retort: "Shut up, old man, you're crazy."

"And you're so stupid that you had to read and learn about your enemies' characteristics in scholars' academic works. What do our, er, experts state again? Something about red irises being the ultimate manifestation of evil?" Wang Ushi laughed once more and waved the dildo in the air. "That makes you a hunter of a parcel of the demonic population, _soldier_. Not a true youkai hunter."

"Shut up!" Chen Dan snarled, taking shooting stance. "You know, Major, I had nothing against you, but now… Now, I'm going to finish this once and for all. No witnesses—" And he pulled the trigger at the same time that Hakkai seized him.

**o o o **

Someone was touching him.

Someone was undressing him.

Hakkai let out a protest and tried to evade the invasive hands; then someone was speaking, and he was left struggling to give the words meaning and keep sitting up on his own.

"…just helping…" the voice was saying, "…clothes dried…"

"What?" he moaned, cracking his eyes open. There was nothing much he could see and he gasped as he registered the stench of blood. Was he still in the boarding house? The last thing he remembered was that he had attacked an armed Chen Dan. He was certain that at least one shot had been fired—his ears were buzzing because of the noise. And his eyes… "What?" he repeated, frightened, biting back the shout for Sanzo.

"It's me, sir, Wang Po," the voice answered. "I've brought you the horse—"

"Horse?" Hakkai stared at the indistinct shadow that loomed in front of him. Gods, had he been shot again? He was sitting on the floor, he was sure of _that_, and his head seemed ready to explode…

"Fuck, boy, you _are _useless, aren't you?" a harsher voice said. "Hey, demon? Hey? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Hakkai whispered, memory rushing in at the old major's brittle tones. "Wang Po-san, where's—where's Chen Dan? And Zhou Jun?"

"Never mind," Wang Ushi growled. "Your clothes have dried—the ones that you were wearing when you arrived here with the monk. My nephew has released you from your bindings and was just divesting you from the tunic he lent you. Cooperate with him, eh?"

Hakkai coughed and fingered the coarse fabric that half-covered his torso. He jumped slightly when something was dropped onto his lap. "Your shirt and jacket, sir," Wang Po explained. "You don't need my help any longer, do you?"

"I—no, I can dress myself," Hakkai rasped, pulling the tunic off with difficulty. "What about Chen Dan?"

"Dead," Wang Po answered in a neutral tone. "I heard the shots from the street and I thought they were fireworks. Then I came in and both Chen Dan and yourself were on the floor. I thought you were also dead, but uncle said—"

"Enough!" Wang Ushi spat. "The foreigner isn't hurt; no more than he already was, anyway. And if you're done here, go help Zhou Jun with the corpse."

"Uncle, I can't… Damn, you shouldn't—you shouldn't have moved the body!" Wang Po whined. "We should have just called the soldiers, otherwise we may be implicated—"

"_Implicated_?" Wang Ushi mocked. "Let the grown men deal with the big issues or use the big words, boy. Shut your trap and go help Zhou Jun. _Now_."

Hakkai felt more than saw Wang Po leaving the house and fumbled down for his jacket. Chen Dan—_Bully-san_ was dead. He remembered just one shot, the one he had tried to prevent being fired. Had Zhou Jun taken the gun? What happened now?

"Listen to me, demon." Wang Ushi's vague form approached him. "I could call the soldiers—not the incompetents we have around, but the Anthill people—and say you killed Chen Dan. I suppose you're a smart demon, so you can imagine what they'll do to the killer of a member of our force, hmm?"

"_Former _member," Hakkai corrected, squinting up. "And I also can imagine what they will do to someone who stole from them for years on end."

Wang Ushi laughed uproariously. "Are you threatening me, demon? You know, it has been done before and by more formidable demons than a monk's pretty lapdog." Hakkai managed not to recoil when his chin was grabbed. "So. I could set you up. Or kill you myself—they would even give me a medal for putting down Chen Dan's killer." Hakkai did not answer, struggling to keep his expression blank. Wang Ushi laughed again. "But I won't, demon," he said, tightening his grip as he leaned closer. "I could, but I won't. Because I would be dead now if you hadn't jumped that scumbag. Irony of ironies, you saved my life." And he licked the crusting wound on Hakkai's temple.

With a moan of disgust, Hakkai pulled his head free. The sudden movement caused him to topple backwards.

"Ah, gods, I missed this taste," Wang Ushi commented breezily.

"Stay—stay away from me," Hakkai stuttered, trying to lock his trembling arms to lever himself up into a sitting position again.

"Or what?" Wang Ushi mocked. "Fuck, I hope Chen Dan is in hell now, demon; I hope he's paying dearly for what he's done. If it were not for that idiot I would have a feast on your blood tonight."

**o o o **

"Are you sure we did the right thing?" Zhou Jun asked as soon as Hakkai, supported by Wang Po, left the house. "I mean, let the foreigner go? We could have—"

"A life for a life, scum," Wang Ushi answered, sitting at the dining table and lighting a cigarette. "That's the way real men do things."

Zhou Jun hesitated, then went to Wang Ushi and dropped into a chair in front of him. "Fuck, man… Why didn't Chen Dan leave things alone? He lost, I won. I outsmarted him. Why did he have to come—"

"Don't tell me you never killed someone before," Wang Ushi offered as a not-very-comforting answer.

"I'm paid to kill youkai, not people," Zhou Jun growled, blinking owlishly. "And how am I going to explain what happened? Fuck, the guy has—_had_ a family…"

Wang Ushi shrugged, skimmed his fingers over the dildo he had placed on the table, and offered his pack of cigarettes. Zhou Jun took one with a shaking hand.

"Are you… Are you sure the monk's servant is a youkai, Major?" he asked after a while. "That guy didn't look like one at all."

"Do tigers have stripes?"

"Shit. I mean… Nobody is safe, then? Because it's impossible to tell the difference."

"Impossible?" Wang Ushi lifted his eyebrows. "To civilians, maybe. You know, that's why they began these ridiculous stories about red eyes and red eyes only. The Council spread a lot of propaganda back in the good old days and people were simply terrified. Sooner or later some kind of floodgate had to be built, otherwise…" He puffed out his cheeks and, with a wet sound, expelled a long plume of cigarette smoke, eyes glittering. "Those lunatics' 'studies' about the nature of evil were quite handy."

"My captain likes to participate in such debates," Zhou Jun murmured.

"Oh, I don't doubt," Wang Ushi said superiorly. "Of course, we—and by 'we' I mean true demon hunters—always knew better. There's not many of us now."

Zhou Jun sighed and tilted his head to the moldy ceiling. "Major?" he called in a very low voice.

"What?"

"Why—why are _you_ still here? I always wanted to know that. You could be leading a good life anywhere, but still..."

"And go to places where youkai can look me in the eye and talk to me as equals?" Wang Ushi countered impatiently. "At least in this town the damned things know their place. Besides… If a whiff of what I've done reaches certain noses, how long do you think I'd live?"

Zhou Jun glanced at him. "To tell you the truth, I don't think the Colonel would care about your undue appropriations. He's a—"

"Not _him_, dumbass!" Wang Ushi hit the table with a fist. "_Them_! The demons. They're everywhere, haven't you just seen that for yourself?"

"Yeah, well, whatever," Zhou Jun murmured with a huff of exasperation. "What I was trying to say is… Fuck, old man, I wouldn't rat on you to the Anthill hotshots. Honest. As for the youkai out there… You would be rich enough to keep them away."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Zhou Jun averted his attention back to the ceiling. "Damn. I can't believe that I killed Chen Dan. I didn't like him, but yet… And I'll also have to deal with the guy who lent his weapon to the bastard."

"My advice? Let the issue of the gun be. Tell your superiors that Chen Dan came after you with a knife and you had no choice but to draw your gun and shoot him. Where's your gun, by the way?"

"Home." Zhou Jun put out his cigarette. "I didn't want to lose a foot to that feisty monk."

"You _are_ an idiot," Wang Ushi scoffed. "If that youkai hadn't disarmed Chen Dan—"

"You would be dead," Zhou Jun finished for Wang Ushi, waving his hand. "And me as well, probably." A pause. "Why do you think I should lie about the gun? The truth is much safer. Chen Dan came after me with a borrowed gun, I disarmed and killed him with the weapon. That will even make me look like some kind of hero and will spare me from a lot of explanations—"

"Sometimes you have to think of your men, _Sergeant_," Wang Ushi snickered. "The truth will spare you trouble, but it'll put an end to the career of another member of the force."

"I don't give a damn," Zhou Jun said angrily. "I won't spend the next years looking over my shoulder, old man. The guy, whoever he is—and believe me, I will find out—also tried to kill me. Or are you going to tell me that he didn't know what Chen Dan was about to do with that gun?"

Wang Ushi took a deep drag on his cigarette. "The men are pissed off, Zhou Jun. Can you blame them? They know you fucked Chen Dan up. Chen Dan was an ass, but he was a respected ass. That retard Eng Ho had him as some kind of hero. Of course you must find out who Chen Dan's pal was. Take the fellow aside and let him know you understand he was upset but that you won't put up with shit from now on. Give him his gun back. He will be pretty scared because he bet his life on a loser. Then, word on your … magnanimity will spread fast and bring you respect among the soldiery. You won't get that by weeping on your captain's chest about how mean your men are."

"Shit, old geezer," Zhou Jun remarked, surprised. "And people say you're crazy." He stood and tested his legs. They were firm again. "Talking about the retard who lives here … where's Eng Ho? I told him to keep an eye on the monk."

"A messenger from your station came a couple of hours ago. There's a riot in the youkai area and they were experiencing difficulties gathering the troops."

"Yeah, Chen Dan said something about that. Probably a drunken fight." Zhou Jun hesitated. "The corpse… I'll—I'll notify my superiors about it as soon as I can. I don't know when someone will come here to retrieve it, but—"

"Corpses and I are old acquaintances, boy."

Zhou Jun nodded, feeling strangely at ease with this old enemy. "I saw your nephew taking a gold coin from that youkai," he muttered, giving the other a chance to be honest without losing face. "Why did Wang Po risk trouble with us both by coming back to help the foreigner? He had his money… He should have stayed away."

Major Wang Ushi took the dildo from the table and caressed it with a thoughtful expression. "Money is good but can't provide everything," he said. "Sometimes… Sometimes all a man can wish for is to be part of the action."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"Sima-san? Hello?"

Eng Ho halted at the entrance of the little house, heart pounding. He took in the vegetation around him, now only threatening shadows in the hot evening, and nervously patted his pockets for a lighter.

"Sima-san?" he called again. "It's me."

No answer.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened house, brandishing the small flame in front of him like a weapon. Nobody home. But there were buzzing and cracking sounds coming from everywhere, and the floor… Eng Ho held his breath. Gods, what was _that_ on the floor? He pressed his back to the wall and edged his way towards a pile of crates where he could make out a lantern. He managed to light it despite his shaking hands; then jumped backwards, almost dropping his new source of illumination when a repulsive scene was finally brought to life: flies and ants crawled, disputing brownish stains on the floor—which appeared to be undulating in some spots, such was the quantity of insects that had found their way into the house.

Eng Ho widened his eyes, expecting to see a corpse at any moment. And whirled around, a cry escaping his lips, when he caught a flash of light coming from what he knew was his colleague's 'bedroom.'

"Sima-san?" he whispered, his voice breaking. The lantern in his hands spluttered, then continued burning cheap oil with an unsatisfactory glow. "Are you—are you all right?"

Only the buzzing of the flies filled the silence; the corner at his left was once more shrouded in shadows.

Eng Ho swallowed hard and forced himself to go to the unfolded bedding: if his friend was indeed lying there, so badly injured that he was unable to answer, any wasted second could mean the difference between life and death.

"Sima-san? It's me. It's Eng Ho." He crouched at a safe distance, extended a hand to poke at the coarse blanket, and let out a nervous laugh when he discovered shards of a broken mirror scattered around—undoubtedly, it had been one of them that had reflected his own light, giving him the illusion of another person being present.

"Damn, but that was a good one, hmm? For a second I really thought—_fuck_!" He recoiled and fell backwards onto his rear when something dark and cold brushed against his fingers. "Fuck," he repeated as he set the lantern on the floor. He craned his head to have a better look at whatever had touched him, wiping his hand on his jacket, then laughed again at his own jumpiness.

A stone.

A little round stone.

Still chuckling nervously, Eng Ho seized it and gained his feet.

"Eng Ho." The unexpected voice made him turn to the door with an unmanly squeak. "What are you doing here?"

"Sima-san! Man, you just scared the shit out of me!"

"Answer my question."

Eng Ho blinked, surprised at the cold tone. Sima's eyes were always unsettling, but now, instead of merely reflecting light they seemed to be lit from inside. "Ah, uh, yes, sorry for intruding. I knocked, but—"

"Did you come here to spy on me?"

"Uh? Oh, no, nothing like that!" Eng Ho scratched his pimpled face, all sweaty awkwardness. "There's a riot in the youkai area, Sima-san. My station is in chaos right now; we're trying to locate Captain Wu Tai. I couldn't find the men I should talk to, but then I remembered you live here… I mean, at least I won't return without spreading the warning around…" he trailed off. "What—what happened? Your face—"

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

"That girlfriend of yours must be pretty wild, Sima-san," Eng Ho offered in a lame attempt at cracking a joke, relieved to have those eyes off him. "Either that, or she has a couple of really pissed off older brothers. But I suppose she's worth every bruise, _ne_?"

The other shrugged and went to the crates. He produced a battered knapsack and began shoving clothes in it. "There was a boy about our age here," he said in a clipped tone. "Dark hair, brown eyes, wears a golden headband. Did you see him?"

"No. The house was empty when I arrived. Is he the one who got wounded?"

Sima spared him a look, then nodded. "Yeah, we had an accident earlier on. I suppose he got tired of waiting for me and left."

"Right. Are you—are you also leaving, Sima-san?" And Eng Ho pointed to the two bags already packed.

Sima dropped the shirt he was holding, a strange expression on his face. "Yeah, I'm going away, Eng Ho-san. Going for good." He reached out and ripped off the beaded curtain from the window. The colorful beads bounced cheerfully on whatever surface they hit, most surging over the insects on the floor. The flies swarmed around and resettled.

"Are you … deserting?" Eng Ho asked, terrified and fascinated at the same time.

"Yeah. Nothing I can do anymore."

"Nothing you can do?" Eng Ho repeated, raising his voice. "Go to your station, they need you there! Sima-san, do you know what happens to deserters?"

"They won't notice or care if I disappear, Eng Ho," Sima muttered, adjusting his knapsack to his back. "They'll have—no, they _have_ already—much more urgent situations to worry about than a lowly private. I saw the smoke coming from the youkai area, and people running. Things are ugly and they'll get worse."

"And you're simply going away? Sima-san, our people need us!"

"I can't help my people," Sima answered absently. He passed by Eng Ho and retrieved the bag in the sleeping area. "Strange, Goku was so possessive of his stuff… Why would he abandon his belongings like that?"

"Goku? Who is Goku? And what do you mean, you can't help?" Eng Ho said with impatience. "Sima-san, what's wrong with you? We should—" He jumped out of the way when Sima advanced to the door and shut it with a muffled curse.

"I can't believe it!" Sima fumed, shaking his head. "The motherfucker took my uniform!"

"What?" Eng Ho mouthed, his heart lurching painfully. Words meant nothing at the moment—not at the sight of that closed door and the memory of countless forebodings. He needed to get out of this place. "Look, I—Sima-san, I should—I must go," he said, pretending nonchalance. "Do whatever you want, but I…" his voice broke off. Sima was now facing him. With his gun drawn.

"Daiki."

"What?" Eng Ho whispered blankly.

"My name is Daiki." And Sima smirked. "It seems old Major Wang isn't as crazy as you thought, hmm?"

"Major…?" Then realization finally dawned. "Gods, you _are_ a youkai! A demon!"

"Yeah, I'm a youkai. Yeah, I'm a demon. Now that we've asserted my condition, put your gun on the floor and kick it to me."

"I'm not armed," Eng Ho managed to answer, his teeth chattering so much that he bit his tongue.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" the youkai snapped. "Do as I say, I don't have time for this shit."

Eng Ho stepped back, in sheer terror. "I'm telling—I'm telling the truth! I don't have—Zhou Jun, my sergeant… He wasn't around and Corporal Mou didn't issue me a weapon. I—Sima-san, all this time… And you're a demon!"

"Your weapon, damn it!"

"Don't… Please…" Eng Ho wheezed, tears already streaming. "Just go… Please? I won't tell anyone about you, I swear, I won't tell, just don't kill me—"

"Shut up!" the youkai advanced and pushed Eng Ho face first against the moldy wall, quickly frisking his jacket.

"Don't kill me! Please! I—I won't tell anyone…"

"I said shut up!"

Eng Ho felt the muzzle of the weapon against his nape and whimpered. "Please, Sima-san, believe me," he slurred between sobs. "I swear on my late mother's spirit, I won't tell them. I can't die, Sima-san, my grandparents… What will happen to them?"

"Shut up!" the youkai hollered. "How dare you? How fucking dare you? You say 'youkai' and that word changes me into a bloodthirsty killer? You say 'youkai' and then assume that _I_ will destroy your _family_?"

"I don't—"

"My brother was tortured for days before he was killed," the youkai hissed. "He was only seventeen, Eng Ho! Only seventeen! My mother never recovered from his death. I can't say she followed him to his grave because he wasn't even given one, but she died four months later, calling his name. But then, what would we know about suffering, right? We're only soulless beasts."

Eng Ho let out a wet sob. "Not fair … to blame me…"

"Oh, it isn't fair, is it?" the youkai snarled. "But that's what you humans do. You blame a whole kind for something a few do. 'Youkai,' to you, equals 'killing demon', and nothing more. I always treated you with respect… Now you're acting as if I'm going to eat you alive."

Eng Ho did not answer this time. He could only cry like a child.

"I should kill you, Eng Ho. Not because of revenge or hatred or 'youkai inherent cruelty,' but because it's the logical thing to do. You'll report an infiltrated spy—"

"…won't…"

"—and the humans in the Anthill will hunt me down to the end of the world. You'll … you'll destroy my life…"

"…won't … please! What did I ever do to you?"

"What about my 'people?' What about the youkai you will kill?"

"I never killed—"

"No. But you will. With time you will."

"No…"

"You told me… You told me you wanted to go back to your grandfather's farm. That you had a girl there, that you wanted to marry her."

"I did. I do." Eng Ho whimpered a woman's name.

"I have a woman I love, too," the youkai breathed. "If I let you go, I won't have a chance to live my life in peace with her. I—I'm tired of living in fear, Eng Ho. I'm so fucking tired of living in fear…"

"I won't tell them, Sima-san," Eng Ho promised once more, resting his forehead on the wall, past any other reaction. Was the youkai also crying? It seemed so. "I won't tell, I won't tell…"

"Why can't we both be happy, Eng Ho-san? You with your girl, I with mine?" The youkai stepped back then and Eng Ho scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the bullet. "Good-bye, Eng Ho-sama. You were… You were the only friend I ever had."

Eng Ho moaned, feeling urine trickling down his pants.

There was a rustling noise nearby. Then the door was opened and slammed against the wall.

A minute went by.

Two.

"Sima-san?"

Three.

Eng Ho turned. He was alone in the little house.

The demon…

The demon was gone. And, apparently, unbelievably, it had spared his life.

Eng Ho's shaky legs failed him and he slipped to the floor, balling his fist around the little dark stone he still held.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Gojyo floated above a haze of shimmering images and half-remembered words, not knowing if he should plunge into them again or fight to keep their promised respite away. It seemed he had been teetering forever on the verge of two different planes of existence: there was the one in which his feverish body shivered in the dark, and there was this strange, alluring landscape of light and blurring forms. In the former, the incessant buzzing that made him keen in sheer despair meant flies banqueting on children's corpses; in the latter, it became the humming of bees in a flowery field. And he wanted the bees, not the flies; he wanted that beautiful meadow that he and his teammates had crossed once during a lazy afternoon.

So peaceful, so warm, so perfect…

_…the high grass brushed softly against his legs, and he slowed down his pace to avoid trampling the carpet of wild flowers. At his side, Hakuryu perched on a shoulder, Hakkai halted and looked up, unconcerned with the busy bees that had already gathered around him. Gojyo took in the big cloud that held his friend's attention and smiled. "A ship," he said. "It even has sails, see?" Hakkai nodded, then returned his smile. _

_An unexpected musical chortle made Gojyo turn around, surprised. Sanzo. Sanzo approached them, laughing at something Goku had said or done, and Sanzo's laughter was sunny and clean and full of life, like the spring afternoon itself. Gojyo could not help feeling jealous. Because Sanzo's rare laugher fit so well in the joyful moment, made it complete, made it eternal in its absolute flawlessness, but it was for Goku, Sanzo's laughter was always for Goku, not for him. Never for him. _

_"Why?" he murmured dejectedly as the scene flickered, growing dim. The shadows… The shadows were advancing, the gruesome shadows, and Gojyo watched in dismay as the daisies around him wilted and died. "Sanzo, why?" _

_"You're nothing," Sanzo answered with indifference as he walked away with Hakkai and Goku. _

_"No, wait! Sanzo!" Gojyo cried, attempting to follow them. "Let me be with you!" The prairie was only a vast blackened desert now, and he had to struggle for each step, as the darkness thickened and wrapped around him. "Don't leave me here! Sanzo! I need your—" _

Light.

There was light now.

"Sanzo?" Gojyo blinked owlishly.

A group of humans stood outside his cell. One was talking to him. Ordering him to get up.

Gojyo squinted at the lanterns being hung on hooks between his and the dead family's cage. Gods, he had been dreaming…

"Up, youkai!" thundered the same impatient soldier again.

Gojyo tried, and failed, to get to his knees. The man cursed, and then there was a screeching rusty noise.

The cell door …

…unlocked…

…opened…

A chance to escape.

All he had to do was jump to his feet and conjure up his _shakujou._

_Now! _

He was still on the floor with nothing in his hands when the soldiers came. Snarling in frustration, then in pure agony when immovable strength squeezed his swollen left wrist into thick manacles, Gojyo was seized and hauled up.

"Shit, what does the Colonel want with this thing?" whispered the soldier who held him from behind.

"Interrogate it, maybe," answered another, in an equally low tone. "The riots began after its arrival."

"It's burning up," commented a third. "Whatever it's got, I hope it's not contagious."

"Since when is an infected knife wound contagious?"

Wound … infected?

Gojyo chuckled, despite the pain that threatened to send him into a bout of beast-like howls. Infected, indeed. And if these men spent enough time in here with him, they would be able to watch as fly larvae hatched and crawled out of his rotting arm.

And why did such a ghastly image seem so hilarious? It was so hard to laugh and dry retch at the same time that, for a moment, Gojyo thought that he would die suffocated by his own hysteria. He sagged in the soldiers' clutches after expelling a mouthful bile, too weak and too dizzy to do anything but stare blankly at the metallic buttons of the closest dark jacket.

He was taken from his cell and dragged for a few steps into the corridor. Unable to lock his knees to support his weight, he began trying to pull his bad arm free, growling in frantic, desperate affliction. The leader grunted an exasperated command, and the soldier who had Gojyo by his arm shifted his grip to Gojyo's chest and waist while the other two grasped and raised his legs. Gojyo managed to utter a "Thanks," though he knew that the rearrangement of his position had not been made out of kindness but for expediency. What use would it be to bring an unconscious prisoner to their waiting colonel?

And that man… That evil, frightening man would 'interrogate' him again. Gojyo shivered, and willed his eyes to focus. The fresh air helped to clear his fogged mind a little, but it was still difficult to pay attention to the deserted passageways he was carried through.

He did not what to be with _that _man again… He could not be with _him _again!

_Sanzo, help!_

The silent party stopped at a door, then Gojyo found himself in a well-lit room. Not so big or empty like last night's; there were maps and shelves full of books lining the walls, and a functional table in the center. The Colonel stood there, talking and listening to a group of older officers and Gojyo's stomach churned violently when _he _held up a hand in the air, interrupting the conversation. "Ah, Gojyo, good evening," came the pleasant greeting. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" It was the cue for the soldiers to move Gojyo to a chair in a corner. The Colonel smiled and resumed his conversation with a "But you were saying, Captain?"

Whatever the surprised captain still had to say was now delivered in a much more hushed tone.

Biting his lower lip to prevent his teeth from chattering, Gojyo surveyed further his surroundings. The high barred window showed a slice of a starry sky. Was this still the same night that he had watched plunging his cell into darkness? Or had a whole day passed with him lost in lethargic delirium?

Had that poor girl died today or yesterday? It was important to remember. Because to disregard her death so easily, as _he_ had so easily disregarded her life, would be the final affront.

Gojyo noticed a pair of intense eyes studying him from a niche among rolls of parchments and returned the stare dully, until his sluggish thoughts linked the round face to the wretched misery his body had become. He was looking at the butcher who had used the knife on him. Lieutenant Whatever.

He hissed and tried to get up, only to be pushed back in place by his guards. The one at his left brutally twisted his handcuffed wrists, clamping his fingers on Gojyo's jaw and nose to seal the scream in. "Embarrass us in front of the Colonel," the man's whisper was barely audible, "and I'll personally rip your balls off, demon." A cruel last jerk, then Gojyo was released to sink into excruciating pain.

"…a troop has already been allocated to that area, Captain. Now I want barricades set up in the lower districts…" The Colonel's distant words hung in the air for a timeless moment, as Gojyo struggled to break into the surface of reality.

"…the newest reports…"

"…civilian casualties…"

"…can't estimate their exact number, Colonel, but…"

Gojyo began controlling his ragged breathing, and gradually the world around him materialized again. He straightened in his chair, suddenly aware of the absence of the background voices. The older officers were gone, though the Butcher still hovered nearby. As did his watchdogs. "This, Luo-san," the Colonel said, leaning over the table to take a piece of paper, "is the _third_ letter I've received from our Head of the Council in the last two hours. Xie-sama demands special protection from us. According to him, youkai will break into his house and roast him and his family for dinner."

"Xie Dewei-sama is overreacting, sir. The northern district is safe—"

"I want you to choose two men and go to his house. Keep him off my back until this whole mess is sorted out."

The Butcher grimaced. "Sir? But—"

"Did the youkai behave itself on his way to this room, Corporal?" the Colonel interrupted, turning to the man standing at Gojyo's right side.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." And _he_ lifted a cigarette to his lips. Gojyo recognized the crumpled pack and the lighter as his own. "Very good."

"Colonel—"

"A moment, Luo-san. You and you." The Colonel pointed at two of Gojyo's guards. "Stay outside. If this demon puts as much as its nose out of that door, shoot him dead. The rest of you are dismissed. Go report to Captain Kwan on the courtyard." The orders were acknowledged with a curt bow and obeyed with expediency as _he_ looked at Gojyo, smiling.

"Sir, if I may?" the Butcher rasped after the others had exited the room.

"You may, Luo-san," the Colonel answered good-humoredly without breaking his stare. Gojyo lowered his head, uncomfortable. "But be quick."

"Sir, I—I don't understand why you ordered this thing to be brought here!"

"And?"

"Colonel, I can't leave you alone with it! That's why I'm asking your permission to kill it now, sir."

"Why, Luo-san, Gojyo's deadline hasn't expired yet."

"Yes, but… It'll die anyway, _ne_? Today, tomorrow, what's the difference? Why assume risks with such a dangerous creature, when there are so many more pressing issues? It isn't even properly restrained! It can attack—"

"Did you hear that, Gojyo?" the Colonel drawled. "Lieutenant Luo thinks I'm not able to deal with you."

"Sir, I have only your best interests—"

"Permission denied. Anything else?"

Luo hesitated. "No, sir. Though—"

"Give my regards to Xie Dewei-sama. Tell him I'm going to report to the Council personally, first thing in the morning."

The Butcher glowered at Gojyo one last time, then left. In the following silence, Gojyo leaned forward in his chair, greedily inhaling the cigarette smoke. He was alone with _him_ now… And the fucker… The cursed fucker was only a human… It would not be that difficult to waste _him_, would it? He had to … had to fight. Had to kill.

"So, Gojyo," the Colonel hummed, "aren't you curious to know what all this fuss is about?"

"No," Gojyo murmured, licking his crusted lips. The throbbing in his bad arm seemed to flare up in tune with his mounting craving. Fuck, he _needed _that cigarette.

"You should. You see, some of our youkai went mad. We have several casualties, both military and civilian."

Gojyo let out a tired snort and looked at _him_. "And you're blaming _me_?"

"And aren't you to be blamed? You and your friends? You, the Gods' Chosen Ones?" The Colonel blew a lungful of cigarette smoke towards the ceiling and Gojyo's nostrils flared in hunger. "Either those demons were changed into killing machines by your monk's enemies, or they became your gods' instruments to distract and punish us for interfering with your group. Xie Dewei, our Head of the Council, believes the latter."

"It—It doesn't work like that," Gojyo croaked.

"Well, be that as it may, we'll have to clean up after your Sanzo."

"How come—" Gojyo started then held his breath. The bastard talked as if he knew the fake priest. Could it be true? Was Sanzo here? If he asked… Would his questions be answered or would they be used to torment him further? _He_ was not trustworthy; _he _was…

Evil.

The Colonel laughed, as if quite aware of Gojyo's inner battle "You're priceless, Gojyo! But we were talking about Sanzo, eh? I came across him this evening. He was very, very upset. Hakkai's death really affected him."

Gojyo froze. "What?"

"It was a mistake, of course," the Colonel continued easily. "I explained to Sanzo that you resisted arrest and tried to attack one of our men in the park. That Hakkai was shot trying to protect you."

"What are you talking about? Hakkai is…"

"Dead." The Colonel tapped off the cigarette ash with a bored gesture. "Died from his head injury in that prison where you both were taken."

Gojyo gaped at _him_, shaking his head. Hakkai… Hakkai was… "No," he slurred drunkenly. "It's… It's not true."

_He_ shrugged. "Believe what you want."

"It—it can't be true," Gojyo insisted in a whimper, slipping from the chair to the floor. "Hakkai is…" _my friend my harbor the only thing that's good in my life…_ "It isn't true!"

"You've been my guest since yesterday, Gojyo. Have I lied to you yet?"

On his knees, unable to think, Gojyo stared stupidly at nothing. He was only pain, only despair, only this primal gathering roar that would tear his chest apart when he let it out.

Hakkai.

Hakkai was…

Oh merciful, merciful gods!

There was a strange taste in his mouth, something watery. His dehydrated body, beastly thing that it was, accepted it, even when there was no actual command to do so. He gagged a little, but managed to swallow several mouthfuls.

Alcohol.

He was drinking alcohol.

Fiery alcohol that burned his parched throat and made him splutter and cough and wake up a little from his shocked trance.

"Better?" a voice asked. "Gojyo? Are you feeling better?"

Gojyo raised tearing eyes. _He _was also on the floor, a metal cup in his hands, smiling patronizingly.

"I thought you were going to faint, little demon."

"What—what did Sanzo do?" Gojyo heard himself speaking, though a part of his mind was still floating. "He can't… He can't leave Hakkai…"

"Ah, the burial, you mean? We lent Sanzo a wagon. Then he and the boy—what's his name again?"

"Goku."

"Yeah, Goku. Sanzo and Goku left the town together. I suppose they'll give Hakkai a decent grave at the roadside. Suitable, isn't it? You four have traveled so much."

Gojyo opened and closed his mouth, transfixed.

Hakkai's burial.

Hakkai's grave.

Because Hakkai…

Hakkai was…

"…gone?" he begged.

"Sanzo, you mean?" And the Colonel canted his head with mock seriousness. "Yes. I won't lie and tell you we'll miss him. He has quite a temper for a monk."

"Sanzo… Sanzo wouldn't go without me."

"But he did. He's quite pissed with you, so he was willing to leave you under our, uh, care for some time. You see, Gojyo, he doesn't know we're going to execute you tomorrow." And the Colonel saluted him with the cup. "Don't worry, though. If he comes back for you, we're going to tell him you escaped. So he won't have your death on his conscience as you have Hakkai's on yours."

Gojyo frowned, lost, and started rocking slightly back and forth.

Hakkai.

Hakkai was gone.

Hakkai was…

"I'm cold," he mumbled inanely, because it was the only thing he knew for sure right now.

The Colonel grunted in sympathy. "There's a small room connected to this one," _he_ purred, "a room with a fireplace. Lieutenant Luo always leaves some wood at hand, even during summer, to warm water for my baths. I'm sure he took all measures to assure my comfort regarding such matters tonight; he knew I was going to sleep in this wing. Gojyo?" The Colonel snapped his fingers in front of Gojyo's eyes. "Hey. Stay with me, yes? I have a proposition for you."

"Prop—proposition?"

"You know you're going to die tomorrow, right?" Gojyo nodded indifferently and the Colonel nodded back at him. "The way you will die, though… That will be up to you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I'm a lonely man, and the truth is that I like you. We could go to that room over there and have a good time together." Gojyo shook his head and tried to raise his hands to cover his naked chest but his bad arm could not sustain the heavy manacles. "I'm not a rapist, Gojyo," the Colonel went on, "so if you say no to me, it will be no. I will send you back down. A man should not spend his last night on Earth alone, though, so I'm sure you'll be glad to share your three jolly companions' cell."

Gojyo widened his eyes, terrified. "No."

"Honestly, Gojyo, you aren't very good with words, are you? Is that a 'No, I don't want to spend a night handcuffed to a youkai's corpse' or a 'No, I don't want to sleep in your bed?' And why is my proposal such a big thing, after all? Sanzo himself told me you're nothing but a whore, so I thought we could reach an arrangement."

Gojyo stopped his swaying. "Sanzo … told you?"

"In the end, it won't change anything, of course," the Colonel explained silkily. "But, if you're accommodating, I'll let you die like a man of honor, not like an animal. If you're good to me I'll be good to you." And _he_ smiled. "Instead of executing you tomorrow, I will let you kill yourself."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

"Which way?" There was no answer, and Hakkai turned in the saddle. The human who had been walking by his side was only an indistinguishable blur on the deserted dark slope. "Wang Po-san?" he insisted. "Which way now?"

"It's a dead end," came a muffled reply at last. "We can't go on from here."

"But you said … you said you were certain of a passage here!"

"I remember what I _said_!" Wang Po snapped. "But it's been ages since I've had to come here. Do you expect me to remember every detail?"

Hakkai tightened his grip on the reins, fighting to keep his anger in check. Gojyo needed him and yet here he still was, stuck halfway to nowhere with a complete idiot. Wang Po had been balking at every obstacle since the beginning, and Hakkai, practically blind, knew that his chances of being abandoned by his jittery guide grew with each step they took. "I don't expect you to remember every detail, Wang Po-san," he remarked in a low, controlled tone. "Only the important ones."

"I suppose you're aware," Wang Po retorted with petulance, "that my deal with your monk was to find you transportation and escort you out of the town. He said nothing about dangerous uphill incursions."

"But afterwards you cut a deal with me," Hakkai said evenly, as if he had not heard—and replied to—that exact complaint at least twice in the last ten minutes. "I also paid you, right? So, let's find the passage."

Silence.

"Wang Po-san, you know I _cannot_ do this alone," Hakkai rasped, his heart thundering. "Please, let's keep going."

"Buddha, this is crazy! What are you trying to do, anyway? You saw what this town has become! We shouldn't be out in the open!"

"I didn't see anything more menacing than panicky people running, apparently with no other reason than seeing others doing the same."

"The youkai are attacking us!" Wang Po cried. "That's why they were running! Damn, you're blind anyway, so this point is moot!"

"Well, I concede that I have impaired vision," Hakkai said. "So, have you seen any youkai, Wang Po-san?"

"This is crazy!" Wang Po repeated. "I'm exhausted; you're sick. What's the point?"

"Have _you_ seenany youkai attacking someone?" Hakkai demanded tersely.

"No, foreigner, I haven't. But I saw our troops rushing to the youkai area."

"Which is far from here. Isn't that so? Most of the festivities weren't even cancelled." As if on cue, some fireworks shot off in the distance. The nervous horse reared up, almost throwing Hakkai to the ground.

Wang Po did not bother to approach the animal to calm it, as he had done on similar occasions. "We knew… We knew that we would have to pay the price some day for keeping youkai around," he mumbled. "Uncle told me that he tried to convince the Council to get rid of them all decades ago. But the rich demons had—actually still have—a good deal of influence within some circles, and the poor... The poor toil hours on end for nothing. It's said that Xie Dewei—that's our Head of the Council—has only youkai on his farms, working just for food and a place to live." Wang Po snorted. "I bet those farms of his won't be looking so nice tomorrow morning."

Hakkai leaned over the horse's neck, fighting off a surge of dizziness. "Let's focus on our difficulties, Wang Po-san; I'm sure your Head of the Council can deal with his own problems. I think we could skirt—"

"My legs are _cramping_," Wang Po interrupted with impatience. "All this may sound adventurous to you, but I'm no longer twenty years old! And there's also the matter of that corpse at home. Only the gods know what uncle will say to the authorities. What if I'm blamed for it? What if—"

"Wang Po-san, I was there when Sergeant Zhou Jun killed that man in self-defense."

"Yeah, but you won't be here tomorrow to testify to that, will you? Besides, you and your monk are also in trouble with the law. Uncle told me you spent the night in prison. I shouldn't be seen with you."

Hakkai pictured himself shutting the man up with a punch and grew calmer. "We already had this conversation, didn't we? In case someone asks, I'm a nameless visitor, taken to your boarding house by an officer of this town's force. You rented me a horse and, as my paid guide, accompanied me around for a while. That's all. Better yet, that's the truth."

"But it's _me_ who will have to face the consequences of whatever you're planning to do," Wang Po whined. "You won't climb all the way up to the Anthill for sightseeing, will you?"

Hakkai had to smile at the other's phrasing. Sightseeing, indeed. He was so concerned about Gojyo that he had not stopped to think about the state of his vision. It could wait. But the fear was there, lurking.

"Uncle won't defend me if I end up in trouble," Wang Po went on. "Actually, he'll—shit, what was that?"

Hakkai patted the horse, then straightened his back. "What was what?"

"Didn't you _hear _that?" Wang Po demanded, sounding genuinely frightened.

Hakkai squinted at the shapeless shadows that surrounded them.

"They are here," Wang Po squeaked. "Youkai!"

The horse neighed, stomping and tossing its head. Hakkai cursed under his breath, fumbled for the front of the saddle without releasing the reins, and dismounted. "Wang Po, take the reins." He had to keep his body very close to the animal's shoulder, pivoting with it, or he would have been kicked. "Wang Po?"

Nothing.

"Wang Po-san?" he called again, despair seeping into his voice. "Are you still there?"

No answer.

He was alone now.

Alone and blind and lost in this maze's alleys.

The realization froze him in place, panic choking any other words. Then he felt it. An aggressive _chi_ flooding his senses with a mixture of confusion and bottomless anger.

It was impossible to contain the horse now, and Hakkai let it go. A youkai was coming… A being whose strength caused the very air to vibrate. It was almost upon him now…

…almost…

…_there!_

Willing his useless eyes to show him his enemy, Hakkai attempted to gather enough energy to fight. He was so focused on the source of the endless power a few meters ahead that he gasped in surprise when something hit him hard on the chest. Growling, he tried to push his attacker away, his legs failing him. A pained cry sounded, and only then did he register that he had struck a familiar small form—a form he had held countless times before. "Hakuryu?" he whispered, incredulous.

The little dragon came to him again with frantic, desperate enthusiasm. Getting to his knees, Hakkai cradled Hakuryu, relieved beyond words.

But… Who was the other youkai?

"Hakkai?"

That voice…

"Goku?"

"Shit, man," Goku bristled. "Are you nuts? Why did you hit Hakuryu?"

Sagging a little in on himself, Hakkai skimmed his fingers over Hakuryu. "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you."

"What do you mean? It's not like we were hiding or something, and then I was standing over here for…" And Goku trailed off. "Wait a sec, are you saying that you _can't _see us? For real?"

"Not in this dim light," Hakkai explained flatly.

Goku let out a long, exasperated hiss. "What the fuck are you doing here alone, then? Where are Sanzo and Gojyo?"

"I'm not sure. Last time I talked to Sanzo he was going to buy Gojyo's freedom. Gojyo was transferred to—" Hakkai flinched when Goku hauled him up by his armpits without any warning.

"The fortress on the top," Goku finished for him. "Yeah, I know. She told me."

"She?" A familiar weight landed on his right shoulder and Hakkai got distracted for a moment by the heartbeat that echoed along with his own. What had Gojyo said in that tiny, airless cell again? Something about claiming Hakkai as his 'territory' and Hakuryu having to find another chest to cuddle up with…

Oh gods, Gojyo!

"Hakkai? You okay?"

"Yes, I—I just… Yes, thank you."

"Can you walk? I heard a horse…"

"It bolted. As well as my guide." Hakkai tentatively extended his hand to Goku, grabbing his shoulder, the proximity very uncomfortable since their respective _chi _were repelling each other furiously. "I think you've scared both of them away."

"Humans," Goku spat. "Humans are not trustworthy." A pause, then he added, as if he had remembered something, "Except for Sanzo, _ne_? Except _him_. I can't forget Sanzo, never. So, come on, let's go. I need Sanzo like _now_!"

"We must find a passage to the west side," Hakkai said, somewhat reassured. "My guide said that it's—"

"Practically deserted," Goku said in a low-pitched tone, shaking all over as if he was very cold. "Yeah, I know. I was there already. Not for real, but she showed me what they did to her there."

"Goku?" Hakkai whispered, surprised, once more on edge. _What the fuck is going on? _

Goku had no problem translating the true question, and the answer, when it came, was offered in a childish tone. "_He_ wants to get free."

Hakkai stilled, understanding immediately Goku's predicament. "But you won't let him," he assured the boy, and himself, knowing they could not deal properly with such a situation tonight. "You're stronger than _him_."

Goku burst in laughter. A chilling, halting laughter. "Aw, do you think so?" He sounded older, cynical, and very confident. "Okay, let's move our asses." And without ceremony, he began to drag Hakkai along. "I'm wearing their force's uniform, in case you're interested. So, if someone accosts us, you're my prisoner—not that I feel like giving explanations. For these humans' own sakes, I hope they don't fuck with me."

Hakkai nodded mutely and leaned on the stranger he had at his side.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

It was a siren call: as soon as Gojyo staggered into the room, he detected the bucket with water near the fireplace. He went to it without any conscious decision and knelt by it like a penitent. Everything else—his enemy, the small barred window, the bed behind him—was unimportant. Only this clean, calm liquid surface mattered; and when flames started dancing on it, he felt himself merging into its glittering insubstantiality.

The Colonel had lit a fire.

"Better?" the man asked, as if Gojyo's welfare was being taken into consideration. "This fortress is cold, even during summer."

Gojyo did not care about the cold; Hakkai was cold now, too. Cold and stiff and alone under the dirt that Sanzo and Goku had shoveled onto him. The image made him wheeze, and he slowly balled his swollen left fist.

Pain.

Throbbing, crippling, unbearable, even without the heavy manacles.

He deserved it. As he deserved whatever torture he might be subjected to. Fuck, Hakkai had died because of him!

"Why don't you use this water, Gojyo?"

Gojyo turned his head slightly. The Colonel stood by the bed, drinking wine from a bottle. Naked. "Take off those trousers and clean yourself." The gentle tone did not disguise the command. "You're filthy."

Gojyo eyed the erection that already jutted from a bush of dark hair, confused. He could vaguely remember a sexual proposal, but not accepting it. What was he doing here, in this place, with _this_ man? "I don't want you," he mumbled with a grimace of disgust.

"No, you don't," the Colonel replied with a smile. "You're a greedy little demon, so you want Sanzo and you want Hakkai. Right? Too late, I'm afraid. Sanzo is gone, and Hakkai is dead."

Gojyo lowered his head.

Hakkai.

Dead.

How could he go on without Hakkai? Oh, wait, he would not. "I'll die tomorrow," he announced triumphantly.

"Yes," the Colonel concurred, sounding satisfied. "You will kill yourself like an honored warrior."

_I'm not honored_, Gojyo wanted to say. _I'm a whore. I'm … nothing_. And Hakkai…

Hakkai was dead!

"Why can't I just die now?" he said eerily.

"Because _I _haven't got my payment to concede you this final mercy, Gojyo." The Colonel sat on the end of the bed, spreading his legs and displaying his arousal even further. "Oh, come on," he snickered at Gojyo's stunned expression. "You, better than anyone, should know that our world functions on an exchange based system. How long have you been using your body as a means to get whatever you want?"

"I haven't," Gojyo murmured. "I mean…"

"Don't lie to me, demon," the Colonel warned. "You admitted to being a whore. Damn, _Sanzo_ told me you're a whore, and he does know you very well, am I not right?"

Gojyo cringed in the silence and focused again on the water.

"I asked you a question, youkai."

"Yes," Gojyo breathed, wanting nothing at the moment but to disappear.

"So, what's the problem here?" the cruel voice went on. "I don't care about your gods or your holy quest, I don't care about justice or simplistic notions of right or wrong, I don't care about money. But I do find you attractive enough to cut you some slack during your last hours in this world. Lucky you for having the only thing that may grant you a quick, graceful death. Or, if you wish, I can send you back to your dead youkai pals. But allow me to be vulgarly frank and give you fair warning. If you, misguided by some ridiculous sense of pride or bravery, choose to face execution instead of the bargain I've offered you…" The Colonel paused to sip his wine. "Be prepared for the worst. I'm not going to concede you a 'manlier' way out of your plight, Gojyo. Your demise will occur on _my _terms, not yours. I _will _strip you of every shred of dignity—dignity you don't have but still falsely believe that you can preserve. I _will_ destroy your spirit along with your body. Your death won't be quick or easy, little demon. And mark my words: in the end, you _will _beg me to let you die. Understood?"

Gojyo nodded. The water so beautiful like that, sparkling in the firelight. Its continuous movement was making him dizzy, though. Why was the water moving so?

But _he _was still speaking, and when _he_ spoke one should pay attention.

"…will be, Gojyo? You with me tonight or you against me tomorrow?"

To stop his frantic back and forth rocking, Gojyo rested his good hand on the rim of the alluring bucket. His fingertips accidentally grazed the water surface and then he was lost. He cupped the precious, precious liquid and brought it to his lips, demonic instincts flaring up at the sound of water dripping into water, at the feeling of water on his skin and in his mouth. So good, so wonderfully _good_! He licked his palm, and rubbed it on his face, moaning in desperate need.

Laughter reached him, and Gojyo shuddered, suddenly acknowledging the voice in the back of his mind that denied, outraged, the show he was putting on for his torturer.

But he had water!

Finally, finally, he had water! It ran in rivulets down his neck, it lovingly caressed his chest and his hardening nipples, it made him pant and writhe and hum at the rhythm of the song that his fingers, again in the bucket, created of their own volition.

Water…

It was being poured over him now, and Gojyo tossed his head back, welcoming it, surrendering himself to it in wanton abandon. There were hands on his pliant body, too; wet hands that ripped off his boots and trousers with urgent efficiency, then maneuvered him to a cushiony place. He lay there for a moment, luxuriating in clean softness, until it dawned on him that there would be no more water. Water he _needed_. Senses thoroughly focused on the bucket, Gojyo tried to sit up, only to be shoved back. He hissed, baring his teeth, ready to lash out in frustration against whatever was hindering his efforts.

He wanted, _craved _water, and it was there, there, _there_!

Was he screaming that?

The hard slap across his face broke through his drugged haze, its sting barely registering as he once more became aware of the agonizing throb in his bad arm. Mortified, he peered up at the smirking human.

They were on the bed. _His_ bed.

"Back with me?" the Colonel drawled. "Good. Irresistible as you are like that, I still prefer the you I've had so far. You know, the suffering guilt-ridden demon."

"Let me up," Gojyo demanded. His voice, though, was only a pitiful, broken rasp.

"You're already 'up,' Gojyo." The Colonel stroked Gojyo's ribs and fluttering stomach. "It doesn't take much to make you hard and leaking, eh? All one has to do is…" And he dripped a water drop into Gojyo's navel. "…give you what you want."

Gojyo arched at the maddening contact. "Don't…" he managed to grit out.

"Don't what, Gojyo?" the Colonel asked, an eyebrow raised in mocking interest. "'Don't stop?' 'Don't give me pleasure?' Do you prefer pain?" And he skimmed his fingertips over Gojyo's left arm. "If I gave you pain I would be making things easier for you, right? Better to be raped than to indulge yourself like a bitch in heat on the very night Hakkai was killed."

Gojyo scrambled backwards in panic, sitting up against the headboard. "I'm—"

"—all contradictions, Gojyo. You say No when you want to say Yes; you say Yes when you want to say No. Fickle and unstable, like water. Or like a woman."

"If you're going to insult me," Gojyo snarled, even when his face grew hotter, "calling me a woman won't do the trick, you asshole."

"Is that why you were after Sanzo?" the Colonel continued, unbothered by Gojyo's retort. "Is he the man you aren't? Or is he the one who gives you the best pain?"

Shaking, Gojyo swiped his hair into the fist of his good hand—the soaked strands on his neck and shoulders were distracting him. "You don't know anything," he said unsteadily. "You don't know _me_."

"Oh, but I _do_, Gojyo. Aren't you wondering how I can repeat words someone else told you? What about my knowledge of your doubts and desires?"

"You don't—" But _he_ did. Oh gods, the bastard did! Gojyo widened his eyes, unable to hide his horror when the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "You can—you can read my mind!"

The Colonel smiled and leaned past Gojyo's legs to fumble for his bottle on the floor. "I can catch what others project. The whole process is always infuriatingly vague, though a certain type of youkai, or a person who reeks of supernatural power like your Sanzo—not that we have those strolling around this town on a regular basis—can trigger a stronger response. But you?" The Colonel brought the bottle to rest against his chin, eyeing Gojyo's erection. "You are unique. Perhaps because you're a water-related half-demon. You see, my grandmother used to brag about her kappa's blood, so we do have something in common. I _knew_ what your true element was as soon as you were brought to me."

"No." The whispered denial lacked strength, so Gojyo had to reiterate it, "No fucking way."

"Refute our connection all you want, Gojyo. I certainly did spend an amusing afternoon seeing visions from your feverish dreams."

"You're lying."

"Am I? I wouldn't invent fluffy white clouds, daisy fields, and loving green eyes. Shit, it was like I was reading a child's story in the middle of my officers' debriefing." The Colonel snorted against the bottle, producing a muffled whistle. "However, things got interesting when Sanzo entered the picture. I suppose he adds this darker spice your black little soul longs for."

Gojyo cradled his bad arm against his chest defensively. "You don't—can't…"

Oh gods. Not even his thoughts were safe? Stupid as they might sound when voiced, unreachable as they might be when he tried to put them into practice, as ordinary, trite, or tragic, they were his! Everything else he had either lost or, voluntarily or not, given away. And now _this _man had breached his last sanctuary? Gojyo curled in on himself, growling in a mixture of warning and frustration. Damn, he must shield himself! Hakkai had taught him some tricks… If he could only remember them! It was difficult to concentrate, so difficult… His body was betraying him again, demanding attention. It was in pain, it was hot, and cold, and still very, very thirsty…

_Don't think about… _

Water.

There. Right _there_!

He could feel it, could smell it underneath the musk of arousal that filled the room, could taste it in the air with the tip of his tongue.

"I need more water," he mumbled incoherently, scrunching his eyes shut. _So you can offer _him_ another of your solo performances, you whore? _came his reproaching inner voice again. "I won't…" Gojyo answered it aloud. "I mean… I'll try not to…" _Summon your shakujou! Even if he kills you, you'll die fighting _"…can't… can't gather energy … can't fight…"

"But you're still fighting, little demon." Warm air was blown into Gojyo's left ear, causing him to start. "You're fighting yourself. Why? Why does any of this matter, anyway? You'll die tomorrow. Just let go."

"Hakkai," Gojyo stammered, appealing to his last and most solid resource, "I need to speak with Hakkai. He'll tell me what to do."

"Hakkai is dead, Gojyo." The Colonel slid his hands to Gojyo's waist, pulling him down to lay on the bed once more. "It's only us now. Only the two of us."

"I—I don't…" Gojyo trailed off, losing track of whatever he was going to say. Hakkai was dead, and he wanted to die, too. That was it. Endgame. Unfortunately, his body would not let him keep his dignity even in such a moment, and the complaint surged up before he could control it: "I'm so thirsty!"

Lips brushed against his. Gojyo gasped and something liquid oozed into his mouth. Wine. Only a small amount. Though he would prefer the tantalizing water that still called to him from across the room, he greedily clutched his enemy, drinking every offered drop, licking his tongue, swallowing his saliva as well as his amused chuckle.

"So hot, little demon," the Colonel murmured, nibbling at Gojyo's jaw. "Monks and whores aren't a good combination, but how _could_ your Sanzo reject you?"

"Sanzo hates me," Gojyo said, too far gone to be properly ashamed.

"Yes, he does. But what has _that_ to do with anything? A hole is a hole. And your body _always_ responds, regardless of what you may think, right? Is that why you treat it so badly?"

"It doesn't matter," Gojyo slurred. "Nothing matters any more."

"Because Hakkai is dead."

Gojyo nodded, closing his eyes.

"Hakkai wouldn't hurt you like Sanzo does, would he?" the Colonel asked conversationally. Gojyo did not react when he felt his hips been lifted and resettled on a pillow.

"Never," he agreed. "Not Hakkai." Kind fingers on his wrists coaxed him to unclench his fists and spread out both his arms. Gojyo moaned when his injury was touched, but he did not struggle. "Hakkai… Hakkai is special…"

Those hands moved down to his legs.

"Hakkai _was_ special, you mean," the Colonel corrected.

Gojyo let out a sob. Oh gods, Hakkai!

"Open your eyes, Gojyo. Look at yourself."

He did.

He was displayed like a sacrifice on his enemy's bed. Arms and legs open wide, hips raised, erection jutting from its nest of coarse red hair.

_Whore. _

Gojyo looked up, at _his_ smiling gray eyes. "Don't move," _he_ said. "I'm still deciding how I'm going to take you."

"Why—why are you doing this to me?" Gojyo breathed, the words barely there. "If you can read my mind, you know I'm—"

"A little demon that walks the good side? Yeah, I know. Now shut up and be still. Unless you prefer _this_ up your ass." And the Colonel shook the now empty bottle in the air. "I could fill it with water… I bet you would beg me to screw you with it, then." The Colonel laughed and released the bottle with a flourish. "Oh, Gojyo, your face! Look, I don't like that mindless thing you can become, but I don't have qualms in using its urges, if necessary. Got it? I prefer you being what you are. A righteous whore." And he leaned forward, sliding one hand under Gojyo's buttocks to tease his entrance. "Do you like that, little demon? Though 'little' doesn't really apply to, uh, certain parts of your anatomy, eh?"

Gojyo squirmed when a finger entered him, his fogged mind still trying to rationalize what was being done to him. He did not remember agreeing with the Colonel's proposal, but was he accepting it now by doing nothing? He should fight. He _must_ fight!

He let out a strangled cry when wet warmth engulfed his left nipple.

"I killed those three demons with the finger I have inside you, Gojyo," the Colonel crooned in between nips, licks and suckling on Gojyo's chest. "I pressed the trigger with it. Like this." The finger moved, and Gojyo bucked wildly when the Colonel hit his prostate. "And gone was the child with the flowery dress." He sneered, licking his way to Gojyo's neck. "Then I pressed the trigger again." The finger moved once more, and Gojyo jerked as if he had received an electric shock. "And … good-bye, youkai boy. And since you were being so difficult, I also had to shoot their father." Another stab, and Gojyo keened. "And a whole family was killed because of you. Like Hakkai was killed because of you."

"Stop," Gojyo pleaded, even when he knew his hips were thrusting upward desperately. "Stop…"

"Stop? But you're loving what I'm doing to you!"

"No…"

"No?" The Colonel added two more fingers to the one he had already inserted and seized Gojyo's member with his free hand. "_This _is telling me another story altogether, demon. And _this_, unlike you, can't lie."

"I don't want—" And Gojyo howled in a confused blend of pain and delight when suddenly the fingers in his body were jerked out and his hips, in a single movement, pulled down to be impaled by a thicker, larger intruder. "Please…"

"Please what?" the Colonel taunted in a strained voice. "Please … do that?" And he started to thrust. "And _that_?"

"Stop. Stop, stop, stop…" Gojyo still chanted brokenly this negative when his legs, of their own volition, folded and locked around the Colonel's back, drawing him deeper. He was brought to a sitting position, his thighs propped on _his_, his chest against _his_, memories from a winter afternoon spent with his first lover unexpectedly flooding back. Outrageous, of course, for this man had nothing to do with…

"Jien," the Colonel said. "Do you remember how he hurt you, but still you loved it? How you sighed and moaned, even when it seemed that you were being torn apart? How you tried to keep quiet because your stepmother was in the other room? Your brother certainly knew what you needed, Gojyo."

Past any other answer, Gojyo merely shook his head, biting his scabbed lips until he tasted blood.

The Colonel laughed again. "Life isn't birds chirping, fluffy white clouds, and suns with smiling happy faces, Gojyo. But pathetic little demons like yourself need to play make believe, right? So…" And he retreated entirely from Gojyo's body to slam into it again with redoubled energy. "What about imagining that Sanzo is in my office, right now, demanding your liberation, waving some paper he got from our Head of the Council? Sanzo is angry, Gojyo, but not at you. He really, really wants you back."

Something rang true in his torturer's words, some indefinable undertone, and Gojyo relaxed a bit into the embrace. Sanzo … here?

"Oh, yes, little demon, your Sanzo," the Colonel concurred. "But let's add green eyes and goodness to our scene, hmmm? Let's—let's think of—"

"Hakkai," Gojyo said with sensual longing, undulating instinctively to meet the fierce jabs, totally open now.

"Yes," the Colonel purred, increasing his pace. "And Hakkai is … outside this fortress … with … oh, fuck … with the other … the other youkai…"

"Goku," Gojyo muttered through gritted teeth.

"They've come for you, little demon. Your … friends. Your new _family_…"

Gojyo blinked to clear his vision. "Am I crying?"

"Yes." And the Colonel tilted his head to lick Gojyo's tears. "Why don't you call Sanzo, Gojyo? I want you to call him."

Gojyo squinted at the door, suddenly afraid. If he called… Sanzo would come. He was sure. Sanzo would come. And he would see him in bed with…

"…can't," he moaned.

"Of course you can. It's so simple! Repeat after me: Sanzo."

"San—Sanzo," Gojyo panted tentatively, only to realize that once this scream gained strength and was released, it would be impossible to suppress it.

"Sanzo," the Colonel prompted again, devouring his prey's frantic gasps.

"Sanzo."

"Again, Gojyo. Louder."

"Sanzo!"

"Louder, Gojyo. Or he won't hear you."

"Sanzo!" The scream hung locked in the room for what seemed an eternity.

"Almost there, Gojyo. Almost… Do it again!"

"Sanzo! Sanzo, Sanzo, Sanzo, San—"

Liquid warmth flooded Gojyo's lower body and he choked, stunned, cutting Sanzo's name in half. His enemy had…

…had…

…_in _him…

Shuddering, still unfulfilled, he rested his head on the Colonel's shoulder. For a while they stayed connected like that, Gojyo blinking in awe at the door.

At the still closed door.

"Sanzo isn't here, little demon," the Colonel told him at last, disengaging their bodies with an obscene slurping sound. "He doesn't give a damn about you. Nor does Goku. As for Hakkai…" He grasped Gojyo's erection. "Hakkai is only a corpse now. Those pretty green eyes? Worms' feast now. The dark hair? Plastered on his cracked skull…"

Hysterical, Gojyo tried to free himself from the merciless hand, tried to hold back his orgasm, but he was already on the edge, and he was exploding with an inarticulate, animalistic howl.

"The dead don't care about the living, Gojyo," the Colonel remarked in a light, amused voice after a while. "They don't get disappointed. So, cry all you want. Your late brother won't mind you breaking your promise to him."

Retching, Gojyo pushed the Colonel away with his good hand and curled into a ball. His frenzied efforts knocked the empty wine bottle from the bed, and it clattered on the floor with the typical shrill noise of Impending Doom that glass produces until it shattered.

Then there was only silence.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Numb.

He felt numb. And so cold…

"Have they finished yet?"

Sanzo sagged against the raw stone, eyes averted, and the older sergeant who had escorted him to the dark passageway leaned forward to peep through the slot in the wall.

"Yes," the man drawled in a low voice, answering his own question. "I guess they did. Now are you convinced that your demon is, uh, in good hands, monk?"

Utterly humiliated, Sanzo did not bother to reply—at that moment he could not conjure up even a small amount of indignation, let alone the few words that would save him face.

His arrival at the Anthill had been uneventful, all things considered. The Colonel was 'too busy' to receive anyone, but, as per his instructions, Sanzo could stay and wait for a break in his schedule… Which might or might not appear, because 'the youkai' of this town had started some kind of riot. So, when Sanzo had been invited, after three long hours, to follow this officer to 'a more secluded area,' he had complied at once, in the hopes he would finally be given access to Gojyo.

He had been given access to Gojyo, all right.

To all of Gojyo.

The picture that had greeted him from the other side of the discreet opening in the wall had been an eerie repetition of a known scene: the sweaty naked bodies, the sensual mating dance, the unmistakable red hair shining in the lamplight. There was Gojyo, again in a bed with his legs spread wide… Though, this time, it was his partner who masturbated him, whispering into his ear as he looked in Sanzo's direction—quite aware, like the youkai in the temple, of their audience. Gojyo had erupted with a primal cry and then the Colonel had raised a semen-coated hand in the air, displaying it to Sanzo with a smirk. Repugnant. There was no other word to describe such filth. The incident in the smelly thatched house had, at least, stirred in Sanzo a maddening mixture of anger and lust. This one…

This one only made him gag.

He startled when his robe was unexpectedly pulled from behind and glared at the sergeant, knowing the other had not moved from his position at the opening. Gods, this place…

He had sensed the dark energy of the fortress way before setting foot in it, and only Gojyo's imminent death had convinced him to walk into such a charged environment without serious preparation. As it was, with his body functioning solely on sheer will and his spiritual shields threatening to collapse at any given moment, he had close to no defense: the sound of several phantom footfalls echoed his steps, invisible hands touched him, disembodied voices sobbed, begging for help. More than once Sanzo had thought that he had heard Gojyo's tortured calls mixed with _theirs_, which had only contributed to unbalance him further.

Well, at least his worries concerning the whore had been unfounded. Though how somebody, _anybody_, could feel comfortable enough in this fortress to have sex in it was beyond him. That alone spoke volumes about Gojyo's character—or lack thereof.

"Oops, their wine bottle ended up on the floor," the sergeant commented lightly, still peering through the slot in the wall. "Never mind; the Colonel will signal for another, in case they want more."

Choking inside the absurd laughter that threatened to burst forth, Sanzo straightened his back and rearranged his robe with as much dignity he could muster. Wine, indeed! And to think that he had left an injured Hakkai to fend for himself on those dangerous streets! And Goku, who was also unwell…

He whirled around with a curse when he sensed a powerful unearthly presence shuffling in the shadows.

"Oh, don't mind it," the sergeant said, also turning. "It comes and goes all the time. It likes this secret passage; maybe it died in here, maybe it comes here to hide from the other wraiths that roam this fortress. Who knows, _ne_? This one was already around when my grandfather worked here."

Sanzo reached instinctively for the scriptures on his shoulders, then arrested the movement midair. If he used them in this place and in such an exhausted state, chances were that the whole building would disintegrate in a pyrotechnic show befitting this town's Festival—taking himself and Gojyo along with it.

Now, _that_ was an interesting idea!

"I'm used to these things," the sergeant continued in a hushed tone. "We all are; it's inevitable. This particular wing isn't so bad, but I suppose monks are much more sensitive types."

Sanzo took a deep breath. The disembodied presence emanated despair, obliterating the other spectral callings and laments. Sanzo brushed his bangs away from his face with enough strength to leave his scalp smarting from the contact of his nails. "It's confused," he mumbled grudgingly, trying to block the emotional onslaught. "It—_he… _He's in pain and wants … wants to go home…" he trailed off, almost not completing the sentence.

"And who doesn't? Even demons don't like hell," the sergeant said lightly before focusing again on the _hentai_ show staged in the other room. "I think they'll have another go… The Colonel, at least, is ready for another." With a chuckle, he offered his place at the opening to Sanzo. "Here, enjoy. I have orders to let you hang around as long as you want to watch."

Sanzo froze completely for a moment, blood pounding in his ears, then rushed towards the end of the dark passageway. He kept lengthening and quickening his pace as he gained access to the broader corridors, stormed past the desk where he had been arguing Gojyo's case, crossed through the hustle and bustle of the reception area and past grim-faced mounted soldiers in the courtyard, only stopping when his hands gripped the stone low wall that cautioned a fatal plunge.

He tried to take a cleansing breath.

The frights, dangers, and outrages of the last hours had been nothing but a mockery. Gojyo had never needed a champion—it seemed, in fact, that Gojyo already had all things perfectly set in his favor.

The whore.

Sanzo leaned forward, eyes on the abyss below.

What the fuck should he do now?

Smoke a cigarette, or ten, or his whole pack while he waited, _again_, like a jealous pimp, for Gojyo to emerge in the morning from the Colonel's room and then steer the half-breed, reeking of sex and booze, to Hakkai and Goku and resume his journey to the West? Depart from this town immediately and leave Gojyo behind to sort out this mess for himself?

What was the answer?

_Jump! _came the suggestion, and Sanzo was not sure if it was his own familiar inner voice that always offered him such an absurd alternative or if this noxious place was trying to influence him.

It did not matter. Not really. Because in the end his ultimate choice—whether it could be called a real choice or not—would be his quest. He tightened his grip on the low wall, wishing it were Gojyo's neck. Damn that kappa for having destroyed what they all had!

"Do copies of documents have any validity here?" he demanded in a clipped tone, without turning. "Can you provide me with a copy of a safe conduct I have?"

The soldier who had followed him outside got closer. "No to both questions. Why? Are you leaving, monk?"

Was he, indeed, leaving?

He wanted to. Gods, he _needed_ to.

"If so," the man said, "you can give me whatever document you have for your youkai, and I'll pass it to the Colonel."

Sanzo began searching his pockets, ignoring the fact his hands were shaking badly. He found Xie Dewei's letter and caressed it longingly, very tempted to throw it to the officer and consider his rescue mission done. But he owed Gojyo, for their time and history together, at least a 'Get Lost' screamed directly in his face. So, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes instead. "The Head of the Council granted my whole team safe conduct, not just the youkai," he muttered, clamping a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it up. "I'll need this document if another of my servants gets in trouble somewhere."

"In that case, you wait and show it to the Colonel personally," the soldier said with indifference.

"Right." Sanzo took a deep drag, relaxing fractionally at the familiar taste. "Where is my horse?"

"In one of our stables. It's—"

"I'll go to check on it," Sanzo mumbled. "I will wait, but I won't go back inside unless absolutely necessary."

The soldier hesitated and went to confer with the officer who organized a heavily armed party. Sanzo barely paid them attention, eyes drifting again to the abyss. In the moonlight, dark rocky patches blended into rooftops cascading downhill. Fire could be seen in the distance and the cessation of fireworks was a good indicative of escalating trouble. Not that he cared. With a shock, Sanzo found himself rooting for the youkai.

"Captain Kwan agreed to your visit to the stable," intruded the soldier once more. "I'm to escort you there."

Sanzo nodded absently and did not move. With calculated slowness, he finished his cigarette, put it out on the stone wall, and threw it into the beckoning gulf below him. _Jump! _

He snorted dispiritedly. "Yeah. You wish."

"What?" The soldier looked at Sanzo, surprised. "What is it, monk?"

"Let's take a look at that horse," Sanzo said, withdrawing from the edge.

They circumvented the massive fortress in silence, bypassing occasional grim-faced horsemen. More out of habit than any true intended action—it would be impossible to go against such a portent, even if he had his three demons with him—Sanzo studied what he could of his surroundings. The courtyard was well lit by several lanterns, though most of the building was plunged in darkness. He pointed at a crumbling tower and the soldier shrugged. "Earthquake, monk. We're still rebuilding. Now, do you want to see to that horse of yours or not? I'm not here as your tour guide."

The stable was small and had an unused air. Clearly its purpose was to cater for visitors' mounts. Sanzo recognized his horse, still saddled, sniffing at an empty water trough. "I thought you would take care of it?" he asked accusingly.

"We don't have time to play host to you, monk. Your horse was given a place to rest. Whatever other care it needs, it's not up to us to provide."

Biting back a riposte, Sanzo approached the animal, wrinkling his nose at its smell. Gods, _this_ probably would be his new transportation from now on. Hakkai would stick with Gojyo in case their team did part ways—which meant that Sanzo would also lose Hakuryu's priceless help.

Hakkai…

How could _he_ think of going on without Hakkai? Damn that kappa for splitting his team up!

"You can't smoke in here," the soldier warned.

Sanzo lit his second cigarette with an angry, spiteful gesture and Glared at the man. "I need water. Where can I get it?"

"You don't have permission to go further into our facilities, monk. And put out that cigarette."

"So, _you _find me some water. This animal is thirsty."

"I won't leave you alone. Now put out your cigarette. We have a lot of straw and wood stocked nearby."

With an exasperated sigh, Sanzo went to a lateral window and elbowed it open. Surprisingly, it gave out to a flat, fenced lot. Stone gargoyles watched over it from the pillars of a gate and Sanzo _knew_ he was looking at a cemetery, though no real markers could be seen. He gasped and stepped back when one of the gargoyles turned in his direction, locking glittering red eyes with his.

"Monk! The cigarette!"

Sanzo quickly crushed his fallen cigarette on the windowsill.

Buddha! How had Hakuryu gotten here?


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

"Do you see him?"

Stubborn, spiteful silence.

"Goku?"

Goku growled, exasperated, and gave in. "No. It seems that Hakuryu has decided to act on his own. _Again_. Well. I suppose even _he _had enough of your turtle's pace."

Hakkai's only answer was to tighten his grasp on Goku's arm and quicken his faltering steps. They were on a steep dirt track, trying to reach the fortress from its eastern side—severely damaged in the last earthquake, according to Wang Po. It would not take much longer to get to the top now, or so Hakkai hoped; there was no way to ascertain anything with his world still mainly made of amorphous shadows. And Goku…

"We would have already crashed into that fucking prison's gates if we had used the fucking jeep when we could," Goku accused. "And now the jeep has flown away!"

…Goku was falling apart.

"We've discussed all that, remember?" Hakkai said tonelessly. "If we were in a car and met any soldiers, do you think they would ask questions first before shooting? Hakuryu is exhausted and hurt—"

"He's not hurt."

"—so he won't be able to change back and forth at will—"

"Yeah, blah, blah, blah. I heard your mumblings the first time, thank you very much. Stop patronizing me."

"I'm _not_ patronizing you," Hakkai countered in a low, strained voice. "I'm merely stating the obvious. Our enemy is numerous and heavily armed. They're also already on alert because of the riots. Using the jeep at such a moment would be the equivalent of painting a bull's-eye on our foreheads."

"So says _you_, who was stupid enough to be hit in the head by a bullet."

"Besides," Hakkai continued, ignoring the remark, "we won't 'crash' into their gates. We won't have second chances here and I won't endanger Gojyo's life to spare usa walk or to satisfy your urge for a dramatic entrance."

"This track is large enough, there's nothing around but dirt, rocks, and a few thorn bushes," Goku spat, still intent on making a point. "I'm wearing one of their uniforms, for fuck's sake! Why couldn't we use the jeep?"

"Goku, please, let's not go back there. Just focus on—"

"Your fucking dragon isn't even hurt! Sanzo told me so, and Sanzo doesn't lie."

"Why that bandage, then? I thought—"

"Ask Sanzo. He was the one who wrapped that thing on Hakuryu, after telling me Hakuryu was fine." Goku laughed contemptuously. "Humans don't make any sense, _ne_? _You_ don't make any sense. We had a fucking _jeep_, now we have to _walk_!"

"All right," Hakkai whispered, gathering what was left of his patience. "And now we no longer have the jeep. So, we walk. We'll—"

"I don't like this 'we' of yours, Hakkai," Goku interrupted once more. "When you say 'we,' you actually mean yourself, so there's no fucking 'we' and _I_ am tired of _your_ shit. It would be safe to…" he trailed off and halted mid-stride. "Damn."

"What?" Hakkai gasped in pain when, without any warning, Goku carelessly built up and projected his _chi _to scan their surroundings. "Goku…"

"Company. Behind us."

Gritting his teeth, Hakkai turned around to squint down the track. All he could see was a pearly blur.

"Still out of sight, but getting closer," Goku briefed him with a satisfied, predatory hiss. "Three—no, two humans. With a horse that 'we' can use."

"I don't think this is a good idea, Goku. If we lose the element of surprise—"

"I'm done with your hide-and-seek games, youkai," Goku said angrily as he pulled his arm free. "_You_ get out of their way. _I_ want action."

Despite his sudden loss of support, Hakkai managed to stay upright. He knew it was up to him to draw the line that his teammate could no longer perceive—Goku's alter ego could _not_ be allowed its share of violence and destruction. On the other hand… They had only come so far due to Seiten Taisei's maniacal drive. Whereas Goku, the boy, would have wavered and looked at Hakkai for guidance, this erratic demon moved as a force of Nature, dragging Hakkai along as a favor not particularly done in good will. Given the circumstances, Seiten Taisei could be a priceless tool.

"They'll spot us at any moment," Goku drawled. "If you're going to flee, do it _now_."

Hakkai bit his lower lip, hesitating. Yes, he had to do something _now_. But do what?

Goku was like a younger brother. Goku was a friend. Goku already had too many bad memories and would not take this whole debacle well once he calmed down. As for Gojyo…

Hakkai lowered his head. The night was petering out and, with it, Gojyo's time. No room, therefore, for conscience, morals or compassion. "I won't flee," he mumbled, fisting his shaking hands. "And I won't interfere. I hope you may forgive me one day."

"Why should I give a damn about your guilt?" Goku mocked derisively. "Though I admit that it'll be funny to watch you, and _him_, beat yourselves over and over for something I did. And make no mistake, youkai: I'm always watching."

The reply awakened in Hakkai a mad urge to punch the creature back to the hell where it belonged. He hated it with a vengeance; he hated that it lurked within the gentle, innocent boy he had learned to love.

Goku chuckled. "Do you want to attack me? By all means, be my guest!"

"I won't—"

"No, you won't." And Goku flicked Hakkai's power limiter on his left ear. "Because you're pathetic." Hakkai jerked away from the highly intrusive touch, almost falling to his knees in the process. "Whoa there," Goku scoffed, steadying him up with a deliberately painful tug, "or you'll break something. I can buy a blind man attacking a fortress, but a cripple? That's another story."

"Gods, you're a bastard," Hakkai muttered resentfully, cupping his ear. He would not be feeling so outraged or betrayed if Goku had, instead, fondled his genitals.

"And you are a hypocrite. What a pair we make, hmmm? Oh, lookey, lookey… Soldiers! Will _that_ appease your ethics, youkai?"

"No."

Goku snorted, and, in an unexpected act of generosity, started describing the approaching party. "A wagon. Both guards are sitting on the coachmen's bench. I smell blood … and death. They have a corpse in there, too."

Seeing only the light of a lantern advancing in their direction, Hakkai tried to focus his _chi. _Everything he could detect, though, came as uncertain as his eyesight, filtered and tainted by Goku's power. "Wait until—"

"Hey!" Goku shouted cheerfully. "Nice to see you, guys! Any chance of giving us a lift?"

"What are you doing here, Private?" came the brusque answer.

Goku grasped Hakkai's elbow and shoved him forward. "This foreigner has information on the youkai riots," he said. "I was told to bring him to the Anthill for interrogation."

"Whotold you that?"

"Why, my boss. Who else?"

Hakkai flinched. There were so many possible ways to deal with this situation without resorting to slaying… If only one of them was well enough to think, to plan! Unfortunately…

"Your … _boss_?" the human said, surprised. "Are you drunk, Private?"

"Nah, I'm actually kind of thirsty," Goku replied breezily. "It's a while since I tasted a certain special vintage."

"Festival or not," the human said in a cold, harsher tone, "your behavior is inexcusable, Private. I don't know who your superior might be in one of those shitty districts downhill, but up here you treat your betters with respect. You address me as _sir_, understood?"

Goku laughed. "Duh, yeah, I guess."

A short, stunned pause, then the soldier demanded angrily, "What's your name, Private?"

"People around have called me Seiten Taisei."

"The only reason," the soldier went on, "my fists won't teach you a lesson on respect right now, Seiten Taisei, is because I'm transporting a fallen comrade and I, unlike you, do know proper behavior. But I'm going to report you. You've just lost your career, scumbag."

"Aw. Really? Well, there are worse things to lose, I suppose. Look at you, for instance! You've just lost your life. Sir."

"What the—"

Hakkai was pushed to the ground as Goku lunged for the humans—and there he stayed, too shocked to do anything but listen to a horror scene taking place. Sounds of tearing flesh and broken bones filled the air—and then there was the overwhelming stench of blood. No screams, no gunshots, no real fight—only the horse seemed able to react on some level, stamping and neighing.

"Fuck, that was so _easy_!" Goku cried drunkenly. "So fucking easy! What kind of shitty soldiers were you, hmm? And _you_ would teach me a lesson? I don't think so, motherfuckers."

Hakkai pressed his hands to his ears, nostrils flaring at the stench. "Goku, what are you doing?" he managed to choke out when his watery legs did not acknowledge the order to propel him upwards. "Goku!"

Goku laughed—a frightening, mad laughter. "Do you want a summary? What about … performing heart surgery? And … oops! Where's this fellow's head? It just came off! Fuck, human bodies are so weak!"

"Goku, please, hear me out," Hakkai said with urgency, attempting once more to gain his feet. "There is no need for this. Sanzo—"

Goku stopped laughing. "You talk too much, youkai!" he warned, irritated. "Don't say that fucking human's name aloud again. Actually, you're going to shut your fucking trap or—"

"Goku, we must—" Hakkai gasped, unable to go on, when a sticky hand started squeezing his throat.

"What did I just tell you?" Goku demanded, tightening his grip. "And I also told you that there is no 'we,' didn't I? You like to harp on about meaningless drivel, which really pisses me off. Not very bright, are 'we?'" He snickered. "You know, I wonder what your death would do to _him_. Especially if I allowed _him_ to reemerge just in time to witness your last throes…" Hakkai was pulled forward, his face rubbed on Goku's tented pants. "Maybe I could even let him come into your pretty mouth, or in whatever hole I feel like using."

"You won't," Hakkai rasped, trying to get free.

"Oh, won't I?" Goku mocked. "Because I'm too caught up with your green eyes? Because you'll keep tossing that monk's name at me like some kind of restrictive spell?" And he did loosen his grip a bit, as if he were interested in the answer. "Because you believe I can be … uh, a good boy?"

"You _can't_ do it," Hakkai spluttered, still bucking, "because _he_ won't let you. He's stronger than you."

"You're delusional, youkai."

"Goku, fight him!" Hakkai blurted out and immediately the terrible pressure closed around his throat again. "For Sanzo… For us all… Goku, fight!" The ringing in his ears increased its frequency, amplifying the pain in his head as his lungs screamed. He was on the verge of passing out and that, he knew, would be his death. So, he had to keep his eyes open, even if only to stare at darkness… He had to keep them open… Had to…

_Surprisingly, his vision did cooperate when he managed to open his eyes. Heart pounding, Hakkai realized he was standing in a familiar landscape: the charred field he had seen/dreamed about earlier. _

_"Gojyo?" he called anxiously. _

_Faint sobbing caused him to turn in the direction of a cave mouth that had not been there a second before. _

_"Gojyo, are you there?" _

_Without waiting for an answer, he advanced and tackled rocky passageways, paying no heed to his surroundings—which sometimes undulated like stage prop curtains and allowed some light to filter through them. He halted when he made out a figure curled on the floor, shivering and weeping. _

_"Gojyo?" The figure huddled in on itself more. Hakkai approached it and extended a hand._

_"Go—" Sad, haunted golden eyes peered up at him. "—ku?"_

Pain exploded in his chest when his burning lungs filled with air and then he was wrapped again in blackness, gaping and coughing like a semi-drowned man. And, gods, his head! He willed himself to grow still and his breathing to slow down, which helped to ease the agony a little.

"Goku?" he croaked after a while. "Goku, you okay?"

His only answer was the horse's nervous fidgeting.

"Goku?" Hakkai bit his lower lip, tasting bile. "Goku! Goku, talk to me, damn it! _Goku!_"

"Where is Sanzo?" Goku's broken voice—sounding like a child's no older than ten—finally drifted towards him. "I really, really _need_ him."

_Me too_, Hakkai thought in a mixture of fear and relief, dropping his forehead to touch the ground. "You okay?" he rasped. "The horse… Don't let the horse…"

"Horse? Who cares about horses? We have Hakuryu." Goku was definitely wheezing now. "Don't we? Sanzo—"

"Help… Help me to stand? Goku?"

"Sanzo will have to come," Goku slurred with religious fervor, ignoring him. "Sanzo will come. Won't he? Sanzo will come."

Hakkai sighed. At least the Other was gone. For now. It was a lost cause to take an inventory of his body's aches and pains, so he simply ordered it to move without wasting time on self-commiseration and, unassisted, gained his feet.

"Where is Sanzo, Hakkai? Is Sanzo coming, isn't he? Hakkai?"

Hakkai staggered towards the bulkiest shadow he could discern. When his groping fingers finally brushed raw wood, he sagged against the wagon, scrunching his eyes shut when his right boot hit something that rolled away. Was it the soldier's decapitated head? Had Goku really decapitated the man?

"I need Sanzo, Hakkai. I need to talk to him. Please?"

The wagon shook and creaked as the horse tried to bolt. Whatever was keeping the vehicle stationary would not hold for much longer. Half-hoisting himself, half-crawling, Hakkai climbed onto the flatbed, intent on reaching the reins—and jumped, startled, when he touched a cold, rigid face.

For a brief moment, all he could do was to stare, frozen, at nothing. Then he slumped against the uneven boards, remembering. The corpse… Those men had been transporting a corpse.

"Hakkai? Hakkai, answer me!"

And that voice!

That voice kept on coming, kept on begging, kept on calling and filling his claustrophobic blackness with a mixture of pity and mounting panic. Goku radiated fear, and Hakkai, too ill and too tired to put up a shield, had no choice but to experience the same raw emotion.

"I need _Sanzo_, Hakkai! He'll know what to do, won't he? Hakkai?"

Swallowing convulsively, Hakkai rubbed his eyes.

"Where is he? Where's Sanzo, Hakkai?"

Hakkai tried to focus his good eye. Blind. He was virtually blind.

"Hakkai? I_ want _Sanzo!"

_Gods, _Hakkai prayed mutely, _hear me only once. Please. Not this. Not— _

Darkness.

Suddenly, he wanted to rip out both his fake and his real eye, like one would force open a window to let light into a locked room. Why not? He had gone mad once, and it had been a time of absolute freedom. No fear. No right or wrong. Only…

Darkness.

"Hakkai? Hakkai! I need to—"

_Kill_, Hakkai sobbed, his mind spinning. _And kill and kill and kill— _

"—talk to Sanzo. Where is he? I should—"

_—kill them all. Just kill them. I must— _

"—find Sanzo. He'll know what to do. He always does! Think of—"

_—blood. Blood on my hands, on my hair, drying on my skin… _

"—how many times Sanzo made everything right for us!"

Hakkai licked his fingers, tasting coagulated blood on them.

_Yes!_

"No, " he gasped, nauseated. "No!"

"Why not?" Goku hollered, misinterpreting the denial as a negative for Sanzo's presence. "Why not, Hakkai?"

_Why not? Flowing bright red…_

_…beautiful bright red…_

_…bright red hair…_

"Gojyo…" Hakkai called, desperate.

"No!" Goku whined, his voice gaining volume. "Not Gojyo. _Sanzo!_ We need _Sanzo_, Hakkai! Tell him to come. Please, Hakkai? Tell Sanzo to come! I need to speak with him, I need—"

_Gojyo._

He had to think of Gojyo.

He had to emerge from this nightmare for Gojyo.

"Why don't you answer me, Hakkai? Where the fuck is Sanzo? I _want_ Sanzo! I _need_ Sanzo! Sanz—"

"Shut up!" Hakkai's scream seemed to go on forever. When it finally faded away, Goku had mercifully stopped raving. With a conscious effort, Hakkai forced his right hand open. In his frenzy, he had grabbed—and crushed—the dead soldier's wrist. "Enough of this shit, Goku! Got it? Enough!"

Goku sniffled and whimpered, but did not reply.

"Do you want your monk?" Hakkai asked brutally. "Fine. We will find him. But until then, _you _do what _I_ say. Got it?"

"My hands—"

"I don't fucking care!" Hakkai thundered and the horse gave the wagon another frantic jolt. "Shut up!"

When it became clear that Goku had indeed understood the message, Hakkai leaned forward, taking deep breaths. "Goku, I need you," he said after what seemed an eternity. "We won't get to Sanzo—or Gojyo, for that matter—if we both lose our minds on this track."

Silence.

"Will—will you help me to put these bodies in the wagon?" Hakkai pleaded. "So we can go on?"

There was a long moment of hesitation. Then a muffled noise at his left indicated that Goku would, indeed, collaborate.

"Why do you want…" and the boy trailed off. He sounded distant, dazed, lost.

"We can't leave them to be found by a patrol." Grimacing, Hakkai fumbled for the grim load his teammate dumped unceremoniously onto the flatbed, arranging it in a decorous manner. "I don't know what Sanzo has accomplished so far, but killing members of these people's army won't bode well for any of us. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose," Goku said bleakly. "Do you want… Do you want the guy's head, too?"

Hakkai swallowed dry and nodded. Then cringed when Goku dropped the item at his feet. "All right," he murmured. "Come on, Goku, undress. I'll be wearing the uniform now."

"Uniform?"

"Give me your clothes and put on mine. Quick."

Goku did not question him on that—in fact Goku was in no condition to question rationally anything any more. Hakkai accepted and donned the blood-soaked jacket with numb, detached horror, then began to babble, both to take his mind off having to wrap his legs into equally tainted trousers and to prevent Goku from slipping further into his fugue state. "You know, we're lucky with this. These men were certainly Anthill soldiers. Can you see any difference in their uniforms?"

"The—the cut, I guess. But the uniform I took isn't…"

Hakkai waited, but nothing more was said. "Isn't from the Anthill?" he finished for Goku, hoisting himself up onto the driver's seat. "It doesn't matter. Just be my eyes from now on and let me do all the talking in case we meet more soldiers."

"What about Sanzo? I want—"

"Yes, I know. Come sit here with me." Short, uncomplicated orders. Even as his healthy, playful self, Goku reacted faster when things were kept simple. "Have you put my jacket on? That's much cleaner than this one you lent me, that's for sure. Are you settled?" There was a faint murmur of assent. "Good. Pass me the reins. Can you find a handle or something similar that works as a brake?"

He could. For suddenly the horse darted forward a few meters before Hakkai managed to control it. Soon enough, they were traveling at an even, steady rhythm.

"I don't think we thank Hakuryu enough for his good will, Goku," Hakkai said in an attempt to fend off exhaustion. Now that the rush of adrenaline was over, he had difficulty concentrating. "Can you imagine how our lives would be if we depended daily on such vehicles?" Goku remained silent, though he did get closer to Hakkai's body, shaking as if he was cold. "Well, at least this horse is accustomed to youkai and knows its way to the fortress. The one I rode before was nasty; I think it sensed I'm not human. Goku?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't go to sleep, all right?"

"…tired."

"Yes, I know. But don't go to sleep."

A hazy memory of Sanzo conveying this exact message made Hakkai snap his own dropping head up.

"Humans," Goku murmured only a few seconds before Hakkai could vaguely distinguish lanterns dangling ahead. Wang Po had warned him about posts.

He slowed the horse to a sedate pace and pulled up to a halt when he heard the order to stop.

"What are you doing here, Private?" an older, gravelly voice demanded.

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, sir, but I have more than bad news for you." Hakkai turned on his seat and pointed at his cargo. "A real tragedy, sir. But they died performing their duty."

There were several humans around them now, waving lanterns and commenting on the gruesome scene in the back of the wagon.

"Sergeant! It's Lieutenant Yu! Holy shit, it's Lieutenant Yu, look!"

"Fuck! Who is this one? He had—he had his head cut off!"

Goku squirmed anxiously in his place and Hakkai pressed himself against him. "We—we've collected the head. It's—"

"What is your name, Private?" the same gravelly voice asked, unimpressed.

Hakkai straightened and squinted in the man's direction. That one would be his opponent in this particular battle. "Cho Gonou, sir," he answered politely. "I'm under Captain Wu Tai."

"What about the boy?"

"His name is Zenko, sir. He was working as a guide for some tourists when all hell broke loose. I know civilians shouldn't be here at all, but I was hurt and my eyesight is now failing me—" Hakkai did not have to fake a shudder. "I couldn't help my comrades any longer, sir, so Sergeant Zhou Jun sent me on this last mission. Do you know Sergeant Zhou Jun? He was promoted yesterday when—"

"Damn," somebody cried from the back, "we should have killed all those fucking things when we had a chance! Sergeant, it's—it's Corporal Tan Jianfu! They cut Tan Jianfu's head off, sir!"

Hakkai leaned forward slightly and whispered in a confidential tone, "Sergeant Zhou Jun told me to avoid letting the men close to the corpses, sir. Not good for the troops' morale."

Gravelly Voice huffed in agreement. "Where did they die?"

"I don't know, sir," Hakkai muttered and rubbed his forehead. He did not have to fake pain or exhaustion, either. "This wagon and the bodies were found by one of our men. I don't know if their killer or killers are dead. Sergeant Zhou Jun just told me to put the bodies in the wagon and deliver them here. And I'm still to see a doctor, sir, because of my eyes. Now, if you can lend me a horse, I'll leave and consider my assignment complete."

"Horse?" Gravelly Voice echoed, disgruntled as Hakkai hoped he would be at such a prospect. "We don't have horses to spare, Private, especially during an emergency. You should know that!"

"Yes, sir, of course, but… How can I go back on foot all the way down? I—"

"I'm tired!" Goku intervened.

"Can't somebody give us a lift downhill?" Hakkai added hurriedly. "We're hurt, the boy is in shock. If youkai attack us, there's no way we'll be able to defend ourselves."

"Shit, Private, I think things can't be crazier than they already are!"

"Can't we stay with you, Sergeant?" Hakkai begged, stomach churning. If he played his part too well and the man agreed to that, he and Goku would be pretty much stuck.

"Stay here, you mean?" Gravely Voice said. "That's not possible."

"Sergeant, their hearts!" a soldier exclaimed from the back of the wagon. "I think their hearts were ripped out from—"

"That's enough!" the sergeant barked. "Go back to your posts! All of you!"

Hakkai immediately exploited his advantage. "Sir, you can't send us back on foot!"

"I know that, Private! Hey, you! Back to your post! Are you deaf? Look, Private Cho, I can't do anything for you here. Keep going up and ask for Luo-san when you get to the stables—or speak directly with Captain Kwan. He'll know what to do for you. Now take these fucking things out of here."

Hakkai thanked the man and saluted. And was that it? Was that it, really? He snapped the reins and the wagon lurched forward.

"Honestly, Goku?" he said after a while. "I can't feel sorrow for any of them. These humans, I mean. We're in a to-kill-or-to-die situation and you provided us with an excellent cover."

Goku's dug his nails into Hakkai's right arm. "Hakkai? I—I recognize this place! I've been here already!"

"That's not possible, Goku. We—"

"It was over there…" Goku mumbled. "They killed her right over _there_!"

"What?"

"They dragged her there and buried her alive," Goku went on unsteadily. "She showed me."

"Goku, I don't know what you're talking—Goku!"

Stunned, Hakkai brought the wagon to a halt.

Goku had jumped.

And Goku was gone.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

"We managed to isolate the youkai area for now, sir." The hushed voice carried along the spacious corridor over the clipped sounds of footsteps. "But we've got confirmation on rebelling farm workers."

"Any news from Major Tsen?"

"No, Colonel. I think his troops are bivouacked in the western district. I've dispatched a messenger…"

Gojyo no longer cared to follow the exchange; too ill and too tired to worry about anything but avoiding more pain, he shifted his attention to the almost impossible task of Keeping Moving. For there was the sheer agony radiating from his bad arm. And there was the throb in his lower back—_his_ seed now oozing down to taint his already soiled pants. And there was cold—awful, biting cold that caused his teeth to chatter and prevented him from plunging further into a delirious, disconnected void.

"…the demons are unusually resistant to our guns, Colonel. It takes four or five bullets just to slow them up…"

Outraged surprise. It registered in Gojyo's hazy brain more clearly than any of the older officer's real words. Gojyo snorted, picturing mass panic and gory scenes downhill. The Madness had come at last for the youkai of this town, collecting its usual price of violence and blood—a befitting, karmic payback in this particular case. These fucking humans could discuss war strategies all they wanted now; Gojyo knew very well which side would have more pilled bodies at the end of the day.

"A shame that such a detail will make no difference to Hakkai. Or to that family. Or to yourself."

Startled at having _him_ once more crawling into his head and commenting aloud on his thoughts, Gojyo lost his concentration and his balance, crumpling to his knees. One of the soldiers hauled him up with a jerk at his swollen arm, and then reality bent in on itself.

"…I want him conscious, Corporal," _his_ voice, calm and amused,reached Gojyo from what seemed to be a long, long distance away. "But you were saying, Captain?"

"Our guns, sir. They haven't been effective…"

Vaguely, Gojyo noted that he still stood, held up by hiswatchdogs. The soldier who supported most of his weight jabbed his ribs with impatience, indicating that their small party was to resume walking.

"Can't," Gojyo tried to warn as the Colonel proceeded down the corridor, engrossed in whatever his subordinate reported. And as a fist loomed threateningly over his bad arm, Gojyo grew frantic and projected to _him_ a mental plead that ended up ringing as a panic-stricken order:_ Tell them to back off! Now! _

"Back off!" _he _complied with an unexpected, thunderous bark, and the men stepped away at once. Gojyo's undivided attention had to be focused on Keeping Standing then; only when he managed to assert some form of control over his wobbling legs, did he register the group's eerie silence. Alarmed, he peered up from behind his dirty hair. 

_He_ had stopped in his tracks. _He_ had turned.

And _he_ was not happy. At all.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Gojyo brought his shaky right hand to his face, half-hiding himself in there. A childish, ridiculous gesture not conducive to his intention of dying with as much dignity as he was still able to muster. He got distracted by the wet heat against his fingers and began tracing the scars on his left cheek. He found automatically that particular spot—yes, right _there—_where the skin was rougher, like badly tanned leather. Maddening, to have it under his nails and yet keep the touch gentle. The temptation to tear at the marks, to rip them out and carve his own indelible design, always surfaced when he felt that particular patch.

A cigarette… That was what he needed right now. Something to hold with his jittery fingers.

"…Colonel. I'm sorry, sir."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I want the prisoner conscious?"

_He _was still not happy. Duh. Fuck _him_.

"But I've done that already, Gojyo," _he_ answered coldly. "Maybe we should have another round?"

Gojyo immediately shook his head, almost losing his balance. 

"Can I kill it, sir? This thing is already falling apart, what use will that monk have…"

Gojyo blinked.

Monk? Had he heard that right?

"You're out of line, Captain," _he_ scolded, once more sounding collected.

"My apologies, sir. It's just—Colonel, the men are nervous and it would help if they could at least see you around. Your presence alone would improve their morale…"

Gojyo tried to concentrate, tried to catch that magical word again in their drivel, but the shadows on the walls were growing and shifting—the very walls were growing and shifting—and, finally, finally, the pain was ebbing away, and the cold, and any perception he still might have of his surroundings.

Next thing he was aware of he was looking at a high stone ceiling and anonymous hands supported his torso and legs—he was being carried. And…

Gojyo willed his lolling head up, crossing his eyes to look ahead.

…and _he_ still led this little company, though the older Captain was no longer a member of it. They were now in a broader, busier area—men in dark uniforms talked and rushed to and fro, all of them pausing whatever they were doing to give _him _a bow and a wide berth. Only when Gojyo had to spit stray hair out of his gaping mouth, did he note that there was a breeze blowing in the passageway. The half-formed thoughts of 'exit' and 'open air' were substituted by indifferent resignation when they entered a spacious, windowless hall with a single desk in it. He knew this room, did he not? He had been brought here last night—or had it been last week? last year, perhaps?—to meet _him._

The iron braziers were still lit and Gojyo found the glowing charcoals infinitely fascinating. They pulsed and burned away in mute agony, pulsed and burned away, like his bad arm, like his whole body, like his very soul, and soon enough there would be nothing but ashes.

_He_ had said that Sanzo had buried Hakkai, hadn't he? Why had Sanzo done that? Hakkai would prefer to be cremated, Gojyo was almost sure of that. Better than to be left behind to rot and be eaten by worms…

"Gojyo? Wake up."

_I am awake. _

"No, you aren't. Come on, look at me."

Sighing, Gojyo complied. Somehow he had ended up sitting in an armchair at _his _desk. A desk laden with…

"Breakfast," the Colonel elucidated with a grin. He stood across from Gojyo and, taking maximum advantage of the light cast by the lanterns, pulled a knife from under his jacket. "Do you recognize this?" Gojyo nodded numbly, staring at the serrated blade. "Good." The Colonel cut a slice of bread and offered it to Gojyo. "Here, eat. You must be starving."

No. Not at all. But Gojyo reached for the bread with his right hand, which was shaking like an old man's. Carefully, trying to calm his queasy stomach, he nibbled at the crust, scanning the room from behind the shield of his hair.

The soldiers who had escorted him to this place were gone. He was alone … alone with _him_.

"Would you like some rice?" _he_ asked congenially. "Fruit? Our oranges are especially tasty, Gojyo. Juicy and sweet."

"Is it—is it morning already?" Gojyo murmured, risking a glance at his left hand. It rested on his lap, very swollen.

"Technically, yes. The sun hasn't risen yet."

Gojyo grunted, suddenly amused. And that was the sum of his life, was not it? Stuck in a limbo, waiting for daybreak. Waiting for…

Ignoring the pain that suddenly flared, he moved the tumid thing that once had been his index finger and started drawing on his pants. A circle. Five straight lines radiating outward.

_My sun. _

"Relax, Gojyo." The Colonel drawled, munching on bread. "Why the hurry? I would serve you water, but I'm afraid that we would become quite preoccupied with each other, then." Gojyo recoiled, humiliated, and _he_ laughed. "What about some tea?"

Gojyo shook his head.

A circle. Five straight lines radiating outward. His finger kept on sketching that same symbol, over and over and over.

_My sun._

The Colonel sighed dramatically and threw his semi-chewed chunk of bread onto the desk. "You're no fun, little demon. Not any more. Well, I guess it doesn't matter." He advanced towards Gojyo, extending something. "I believe this belongs to you."

Gojyo stared stupidly at his headband. He knew he should accept it, take it from _his _hands—it was not a smart idea to keep _him _hanging on there, with time and cause to get angry again. But…

…he could not.

His body was simply shutting down.

"It's all right, little demon, I'll help you." And the Colonel brushed Gojyo's hair out of his face with … tenderness? Gojyo shivered at the contact of those hands. "There. Now I can see your eyes. How convenient this mass of hair is, hmm? Is that why you grow it? To hide behind it?" "

"I guess it doesn't matter," Gojyo parroted drunkenly, and _he_ laughed.

"No, little demon. It doesn't." _He_ tilted _his _head as if listening to something. "We're almost getting _there_, right where I want us to be, Gojyo. Then our dance will end and nothing will matter ever again."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

"You should stay put at the Colonel's door, monk. How are you going to hear him call you for your interview from this stable? I doubt he'll give you another chance."

Sanzo shrugged with measured indifference—one of his trademark Whatever gestures, certain to elicit a reaction even from Hakkai in a good mood. It did not fail to push his already uneasy watchdog over the edge.

"The Colonel won't come here to talk to you, you know?" the soldier barked. "Don't you want that youkai of yours back?"

"_That _youkai?" Sanzo drawled, shaking out another cigarette from his crumpled pack. "Not really."

"I told you not to smoke here!"

Sanzo lit his cigarette, grateful for his steady hands. It was becoming harder for him to conceal his own anxiety; all he wanted was to put an end, once and for all, to this whole situation.

'Situation.'

What an improper word to describe the agony that 'that youkai' had put—was still putting—him through!

"Are you fucking deaf, monk? I won't fucking repeat myself!"

_No, you won't fucking repeat your fucking self, you fucking moron_, Sanzo thought, suppressing a nervous snort. He sat on the windowsill, took a deep drag from his cigarette, and released the smoke into the open air. A few meters ahead, still perched on the low cemetery wall, Hakuryu impatiently craned his head upwards. The sun was rising.

"Monk, don't _make_ me—"

"Five minutes," Sanzo said softly. "Let me finish this, then we'll go back, okay?" No need to glance over his shoulder; he knew that the soldier now hovered at the stable entrance, torn between enforcing rules and the knowledge that a small indulgence meant a quicker return to the fortress—and, therefore, access to news from the battlefield. _Come on, motherfucker, give me a chance to get to Hakuryu…Just one chance. _

"Five minutes," came the sour agreement at last. "Then we'll go back, whether you want to or not. The Colonel won't mind if I break your nose or one of your arms, youkai lover."

Sanzo pretended to study the tip of his cigarette. Such a charming epithet did not apply to himself, but, if the little scene he had cordially been invited to witness was anything to go by, it described the officer in charge of this place very well. The colonel & the kappa—or the youkai lover & his youkai lover. Or the youkai lover on his youkai lover. Sanzo was sure that the youkai lover had been inside his youkai lover, though he had been spared that specific detail during Gojyo's last performance. Not that it made any difference, of course; there were always the graphic contents of two nights ago and the hentai material from his own nightmares to fill in the blanks.

Buddha, but Gojyo was a whore. A lowly, worthless, stupid, filthy _whore_ who deserved a memorable lesson. How could he have slept with _that_ man?

How _dared_ he!

_Stop it! Concentrate! _

Right. Hakuryu. He had to find a way to get to Hakuryu.

But sensual images of Gojyo kept intruding, kept taunting him and beckoning to him, and no plan took form as precious seconds frittered away. Sanzo merely watched, in impotent despair, as his cigarette turned into ashes in the early morning breeze.

"What the _fuck_?"

The sudden cry made him turn, heart pounding thunderously. It took him a while to register that whatever held the soldier's attention apparently had no connection with himself or Hakuryu—in fact, the man was now leaving the stable, intent on something only he could see from his vantage point at the door. Giddy with this unexpected bout of good luck, Sanzo stood and signaled Hakuryu in.

The flight was uncharacteristically awkward, but Hakuryu managed to land soundlessly on the ledge.

"You're tired, hmm?" Sanzo murmured, reaching for the bandage he had wrapped around the dragon's body. "Sorry, I know this thing has hampered your wings." Hakuryu let out a moan of agreement. "I hope those two idiots I ordered away aren't here," Sanzo continued, "_you_ are the only member of my group who I feel like meeting right now." He hissed in satisfaction when he retrieved his gun from the folds of the bandage. "Thanks for bringing me _this_."

Hakuryu crooned gently—a sound that Sanzo had only heard addressed to Hakkai before and that he always interpreted as "You're welcome."

"Now go," Sanzo breathed, checking the loaded chamber with a well-practiced movement. "It's growing light and it'll be easier for them to spot you." Without waiting for any response he went to the door, gun carefully stashed under his breastplate.

The soldier who had been keeping him under surveillance barely acknowledged his presence outside. Following the man's example, Sanzo looked east, at the barrenness that surrounded the fortress's inner grounds. And froze.

He would recognize that lanky frame anywhere.

Hakkai.

Approaching them.

Driving a wagon.

In a uniform.

"Now it's you who will have to wait, monk," the soldier commented, his voice hollow. "It seems someone's in trouble."

Sanzo scratched the stubble on his chin, leaving the skin smarting. Oh, _someone_ was in trouble, all right. _Someone_ would have a certain high priest to deal with as soon as this mess was sorted out.

"Hello?" Hakkai called hoarsely. "I need—I need some help here?"

"Who are you?" the soldier called back, advancing some steps, his right hand going to the holster on his belt. "What's the matter?"

Sanzo could only stare as his teammate brought the horse to a halt and craned his head towards the light streaming from the stable entrance. No eye contact. In fact, Hakkai's good eye was unfocused and overlarge; from time to time, it swept the area in frantic movements, without really pausing on anything. Without … seeing?

"Ah, sorry," he slurred, "I'm—I'm Private Cho Gonou, under Captain Wu Tai." He also seemed quite unaware of Sanzo, just a few meters ahead. "Sergeant Zhou Jun ordered me to bring you three fallen comrades. I need—I need to talk to Luo-san. Can you—"

"Who was killed?" the soldier demanded gruffly.

Hakkai hesitated, looking confused, looking lost, and Sanzo made a subtle go for his own gun. To draw it here—to _use_ it here—would literally blow whatever chances of negotiation he might still have and launch the very thing he had tried to avoid since the beginning of this ordeal: a direct and suicidal confrontation with this well-organized army. But he could not stand aside while Hakkai was captured or shot, could he? Not Hakkai.

_Damn you, you stubborn demon! _Sanzo projected angrily at him. 

Hakkai jolted on the wagon bench and gaped in Sanzo's direction, his expression frantic. Though that eye…

That eye seemed unable to focus.

Sanzo gritted his teeth, exasperated to no end, even when the familiar and embarrassing feeling of protectiveness he always experienced when dealing with Hakkai's less-than-bright moments rushed in. _Yeah, it's me_, he projected again, _wanting to throttle you right now. _To confirm his presence, he added aloud, "We must go back to the fortress, officer." Hakkai sagged in on himself slightly at the sound of his voice, relief flaring for a split second on his sweaty face. "If you have forgotten, I have an audience to attend to."

"Pity you didn't think about your audience sooner, monk." The soldier walked to the wagon and bent to inspect its grisly cargo. "Holy shit!"

"Lieutenant Yu," Hakkai blurted out. "That's—that's one of the dead officer's name. Lieutenant Yu."

The soldier only grunted. Sanzo did not know or care about what lay in that flatbed; but the stench of blood was quite pungent. He could only trust that his youkai had had no participation in the carnage, though Goku's absence was admittedly quite suspicious.

Fumbling for support as he climbed down from the vehicle, Hakkai asked, "Will you take over now?"

Sanzo opened his mouth to answer, then almost bit his tongue. Hakkai was addressing the _soldier_. And Hakkai, despite a bullet gash on his head, despite exhaustion and sickness, despite his stuttering and apparent blindness, seemed pretty much in control.

"I'm babysitting this foreigner, Private," the soldier complained. "I—Fuck, it's Tan Jianfu! Jianfu-san! How did this fucking happen?"

"Youkai attack. I was also injured, as you can see. Sergeant Zhou Jun gave me instructions to deliver these bodies before reporting to a doctor. To tell you the truth, I've only come so far because the horse knew its way."

Sanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. How had Zhou Jun reentered this picture? Zhou Jun, of all people?

"Fuck," the soldier muttered again, unable to avert his eyes from the wagon. "I thought I had already seen everything in my life. I know Tan Jianfu's wife, Private, and his children. Now, we'll have to staple his head back together before calling them."

"Is the monk here for interrogation?" Hakkai inquired softly, after a short pause. "Is he suspected of anything?"

"Uh? Oh, no. He's more like … some kind of hotshot guest. Must be, or the Colonel wouldn't receive him, _ne_? Especially tonight."

"In that case, I can escort him back, can't I?" Hakkai offered. "While you warn Luo-san about your comrades' deaths."

Sanzo raised an eyebrow at that but kept silent.

"No way, Private," the soldier answered. "My orders were to watch the little shit. Besides, as far as I know, Luo-san left for the Head of the Council's house. Why don't _you_ go and look for one of our officers—"

"All right. Who is in charge of such matters now?"

"I don't know," the soldier muttered grudgingly. "Because of the fucking Festival, many of our men are still trying to get here. Captain Kwan is—or was—organizing our troops, but he won't have time to deal with this now."

Hakkai shrugged. "So, what do you propose we do? Wait until someone gets here? We can hardly leave Tan Jianfu-sama like—"

"I know we fucking can't, Private! Tan Jianfu was a friend!"

Sanzo propped his back against the stable wall and crossed his arms. Hakkai was good. Almost as good as himself. Shit, who was he trying to kid? In some aspects, Hakkai was _better_ than himself. Suddenly, inanely, it occurred to him that he had never played chess or _go _with Hakkai—a lapse he should rectify.

"Listen," Hakkai said just with the right touch of impatience and dejection, "the sooner we resolve this, the sooner I can see a doctor. If you aren't sure of what to do, ask a superior officer. I'll stay here with the monk."

The soldier glared at Sanzo, drummed his fingers on the handle of his gun in warning, cast another look at the cargo in the back of the wagon, and gave in. "Wait here, it won't take long. And don't let this youkai lover smoke in the stable; he'll end up causing a fucking fire."

Hakkai dipped his head in a passable imitation of a nod. "I won't."

Sanzo maintained his relaxed posture until the soldier was out of sight. Then, he went over to Hakkai and grabbed him by an arm with more strength than was necessary. "And I_ won't_ ask what you're doing here," he said dryly. "It's crystal clear that you don't trust me enough to rescue your half-breed. Where's Goku?"

"Around," Hakkai rasped, panting heavily. "I think. He was—he was with me, but ... he bolted. He hasn't been himself."

"No, he hasn't." Sanzo said and began dragging Hakkai towards the stable. "He had a flashback of his incarceration and he's going to be unstable for weeks. I know. Firsthand experience."

"Sanzo, I do trust you. But—" Hakkai's legs failed him and he slumped to his knees. Untroubled, Sanzo adjusted his grip and hauled him up and forward.

"—but you don't," Sanzo countered and shoved Hakkai onto a bench. All of sudden, he felt ridiculously hurt. "Otherwise you would have done exactly what I asked you to."

"We're wasting time," Hakkai growled, squinting nervously at nothing in particular. "We have to go before that soldier comes back! Where have you brought me?"

Sanzo pushed his bangs out of his face, relenting a little. "Are you—can't you see anything? For real?"

"I'm not blind," Hakkai answered tiredly. "Wherever we are, there's light in here and you're standing before me."

Silence.

"I'll be fine," Hakkai reiterated. "Let's find Gojyo. He's—"

"We're in a stable," Sanzo cut him off in a tone deceptively calm. "I have a horse here; a horse that you will take to get the hell out of this place. Got it?"

"Sanz—"

"Hakkai. Let's pretend that none of these soldiers will recognize your true nature—we both know you've only been surprisingly lucky so far, but, okay, let's play make believe." Sanzo crouched in front of Hakkai and held both of his wrists. "We enter the fortress. Then what? It's a place charged with negative energy, as I'm sure you've already felt. I was in there and I could barely breathe. It would be hard on you even if you were in your best condition."

"I can do it," Hakkai insisted, balling Sanzo's sleeves into his fists. "I swear, I can do it. For Gojyo, I will do it."

"What makes you think that Gojyo needs you?" Sanzo bristled. "Or us, for that matter? I saw him less than an hour ago and he was … very comfortable."

Hakkai startled at that before dismissing it summarily. "No. He has been calling for us, Sanzo. I've heard him. He _needs_ us."

A rapping noise coming from his left made Sanzo turn to the window. Hakuryu was again perched on the sill—if he had even left at all—appraising with curiosity Hakkai's display of obstinacy. Sanzo shut his eyes for a moment, resorting to his old Buddhist training to keep his temper in check. He definitively had to sit his demons down and assert conclusively who was the leader of their little group.

"What is that?" Hakkai tensed and tightened his hold on Sanzo's robe.

"Hakuryu is here." Ignoring his sore legs, Sanzo straightened and pulled his arms free. "Against my orders, I might add."

"No, it's … it's…" and Hakkai trailed off guilelessly.

Sanzo frowned in confusion. "What is what? Hakkai? I'm not—"

The sound of heavy footsteps closing in grew unmistakable, though. Heart thumping, Sanzo positioned himself between Hakkai's bench and the door. It was too soon, way too soon, for that soldier to be returning with his pals, wasn't it?

"Sanzo?" Hakkai called anxiously behind him.

"It's okay, I'm right here."

And so were _they_.

Five dark-clad, grim-faced men strode into the stable with their guns already drawn. The oldest one immediately reacted to Hakkai, alerting the others with a single word: "Youkai."

"Lower your weapons," Sanzo snapped. "I do have a safe conduct." The soldiers did not pay him heed, taking aim at Hakkai—who sat now very still, face turned to the entrance. Waiting, Sanzo noticed. Hakkai was intent on waiting for something or someone.

Only when the soldiers moved aside, liberating the door, did Sanzo understand.

Evil.

Here.

Greeting him.

Smiling at him.

Evil.

"Ah, Sanzo-sama!" The Colonel stepped in, surveying the scene with satisfaction. "My apologies for the long wait. I was quite, uh, busy, as you saw for yourself."

Slowly, with as much as dignity he could muster, Sanzo produced Xie Dewei's letter and extended it. The Colonel made no move to accept the paper.

"All in good time, Sanzo-sama," the Colonel said, amused. "Keep this document in your pocket; it seems you have a tendency for losing things." A discreet signal in the direction of the door, and a dirty, barely moving body was carried inside and thrown at Sanzo's feet. "My men found this little dog scavenging buried bones in our yard. I believe it belongs to you, monk."

Sanzo looked down and frighteningly vacant eyes locked onto his own.

Goku.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

"And here we are," the Colonel announced in a cheerful tone. "All finally reunited. All but Gojyo, that is."

"Where is he?" Hakkai asked hoarsely.

The Colonel spared him a lopsided smirk. "Why, eating breakfast, Hakkai. You're Hakkai, right? Gojyo's been worried sick about you."

Sanzo released the breath he had been holding, the shock at seeing his team once more trapped morphing into annoyance. Only a few minutes ago, things had been under control; now, thanks to his youkai's disastrous intervention, the tables had been turned on him again. To add insult to injury, it seemed that he would also have to put up with Gojyo's latest lover bragging about having exchanged more than corporal fluids with the whore. Thrilling.

"I've been very worried about him, too," Hakkai replied after a short pause. He sat very rigid on his bench, useless eye flickering in Sanzo's direction with a mixture of pleading and nervous distrust. "Who are you?"

"You may call me 'Colonel,' Hakkai; as with your monk, my given name isn't important. It's our titles that truly define us. Am I not right, Sanzo-sama?"

"Absolutely," Sanzo growled, not even bothering to hide his irritation. On the floor, Goku got to his knees, hugging himself. "We are our titles. That said… Don't you have an imploding town to take care of, _Colonel_?"

The man laughed and shifted his attention to the door. "Lieutenant? I want a report on this incident and a list of the incompetents who, directly or indirectly, were responsible for these youkai's trespasses. From Captain Wu Tai down, including Anthill personnel."

"Yes, Colonel."

"Both report and list must be on my desk by this evening, youkai riot or not. Now, take your men and wait outside."

Sanzo silently wished for some sort of balking on the lieutenant's part—at least a token protest at leaving his commander alone with potentially dangerous foreigners—but, after a curt bow, the officer simply gestured the rest of the soldiers out and left without hesitation. Considering that he had to negotiate or argue almost every order given to his group nowadays, such a display of impeccable discipline was another slap in Sanzo's face. Yeah, so his enemy had a better grip on his subordinates than himself on his demons.

"Now, Sanzo-sama," the Colonel said, kicking a round stool to a more strategic position in the center and dropping onto it with a sigh, "since I have a town to 'care for' and you have the whole world to save, let's cut the crap, shall we?" He produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from a pocket. A lighter that Sanzo knew well—had seen countless times flashing in between Gojyo's fingers. "So… You bought a pass from Xie Dewei. Politicians are the same everywhere, but kudos to you for choosing the right bait to catch the biggest fish."

Numbly, Sanzo watched Gojyo's lighter being flicked. Once. Twice. The cheap device always failed to ignite at first try. Then his enemy's words started to sink in.

Bait.

The _right_ bait.

For the biggest fish.

He gritted his teeth, trying to hide his surprise. Gods, the man was not holding Gojyo prisoner due to any sense of duty. Gojyo was merely … bait.

To catch the biggest fish.

"Ah! And light was made!" the Colonel mocked and brought the bluish flame to the tip of his cigarette.

Sanzo looked down at Goku (now rocking back and forth), glanced at Hakkai (who resembled a cornered animal in his expectant stillness), adjusted carefully the scriptures on his shoulders, and went back to the window with measured steps. Hakuryu uttered a questioning whimper and moved to make room for him on the sill.

"What do you want from me, Colonel?" Sanzo asked in a neutral tone. "Whatever it is, I presume it's worth your career. Xie Dewei is very proud of his status and certainly won't take well to being crossed by one of his own employees."

"You're right, Sanzo-sama, he won't," the Colonel said. "But, alas, even our Head of the Council can't know or control everything, can he? At the end of the day, he's only … human."

"Unlike you," Hakkai blurted out. "Sanzo, he's a mind reader."

"Mind reader?" the Colonel chuckled dismissively. "Oh, no, Hakkai, not really; the youkai blood in my family is quite diluted by now. I can get vague hints of feelings and thoughts, but nothing too specific. I'm just—"

"Lies," Hakkai interrupted. "He _is _a mind reader, Sanzo. A really powerful one, at that."

Sanzo sighed and pinched his nose. It made sense—and he should have considered such a possibility after the meeting in Xie Dewei's front yard. The man had not even made an effort to hide his abilities, after all. But still…

Damn, who the fuck cared?

"You certainly don't," the Colonel said softly. And there was a hint of—disappointment? spite?—in his eyes before he averted them to Sanzo's horse. The animal was sniffing around its empty water trough. "You have good taste in mounts, Sanzo-sama." He made a pause, playing with Gojyo's lighter. "Young studs are wonderful to ride. When one is inclined to that kind of sport, of course. Are you?"

Sanzo stared at the man, his anger boiling. "Let me repeat my question," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous pitch, "because, apparently, you didn't understand it the first time. What. The hell. Do. You. Want. From me?"

"Would you believe me if I said _nothing_?" And the Colonel grinned. "Because I've already won, Sanzo. I beat you."

"Really? Was there a competition I was not aware of? A game?"

"And when isn't there one? Honestly, Sanzo! You only deign to acknowledge gods and demons as your opponents, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be on guard around us mere mortals."

"Gods and demons might have a _motive _to declare war on me," Sanzo responded gruffly, struggling to keep his mind an amorphous blank.

"Oh, I see, you are looking for a reason." The Colonel grinned again and took a drag from his cigarette. "Well. There is none. Unless you consider me exerting power as a means in itself. I could execute one of your demons or your complete entourage. Even Xie Dewei wouldn't dispute the necessity of an exemplary punishment for the foreigners that attacked his town's army—and _him_, by extension. You're a fast talker, Sanzo, but how would you explain these youkai of yours reeking of blood? How would you justify Hakkai wearing our uniform?"

"Despair, Colonel." Sanzo leaned on the sill, briefly patting Hakuryu's head. "You disregarded Xie Dewei's orders and kept one of my men in this fortress. Since _you_ don't respect your superiors' decisions, and our holy mission is vital, I had no choice but to resort to force."

"That is the best you can come up with, Sanzo? Find another excuse, that one is lame."

"The truth is generally lame, Colonel." Sanzo held the man's stare evenly. "I'm sure you remember that Captain Wu Tai was with me when I tried to hand you Xie Dewei's letter. That was hours ago, right? Actually, that was _yesterday_. Still… Here we are, as you yourself said."

"Ah, but will Captain Wu Tai confirm your story?"

"He might. Haven't you just put his name on the top of your to-deal-with list?" Anticipating the Colonel's objections to that, Sanzo added, "I know he's a coward and I know I can't count on him. Others saw us together, though; Xie Dewei's house was crowded. Are all those people under your orders? Perhaps your loyal friends, willing to lie for you?"

The Colonel snorted and continued, "What about a second option, then? I could execute your demons and _you_, leaving our politicians to their mundane worries. Your demise would become just one more little secret of this fortress."

Sanzo frowned, pretending to take the words into consideration. "I wonder how long this little secret of yours will remain, uh, well, a secret? Not to mention 'little.' Questions will be asked—and answered—sooner than you imagine."

"Sanzo?" intruded Goku's voice, raspy and whiny. "I've found her grave. Can't … can't you go there with me and help her? Kind of … pray for her? I couldn't do much, but you… Can't you go?" He tilted his head up, stopping his rocking. "And _he_ has been speaking to me. Telling me to kill… 'Kill everyone,' that's what _he_ says and—"

"Shut up, Goku," Sanzo snarled.

"But… You told me to tell you when _he _speaks to me!"

"A very peculiar group you've assembled, Sanzo-sama," the Colonel commented acidly. "Unique."

Sanzo relaxed a fraction at the man's indifference to Goku's dangerous blabbering. "Believe me, Colonel, the deed wasn't mine."

"So I heard. You know…" the Colonel trailed off, then proceeded in a slow, reluctant voice, "I can't help but wonder if your gods will come here to save their Chosen One. I wonder if I'm going to have an epiphany when—_if_—this happens."

Sanzo raised his eyebrows. "Why, Colonel, you speak like a man who cares about those things!"

"Why, Sanzo, perhaps I do!" the Colonel mimicked, then laughed. "Understandable, _ne_? I've lived a life plagued by this gift, or curse, as some might label it. When I was younger, I used to wait for—and you can call me an idiot now—some sort of sign. I used to wait and—" He spared Goku a brief glance. "—pray for my own holy mission to be appointed to me. Silly, hmm?"

"Do you think that every youkai or half-youkai in this world has a divine mission to perform, Colonel?"

"Oh, no, Sanzo. Of course not. But demons and half-demons at least benefit from their condition."

"And you never benefited from yours, right?" Sanzo kept focused on his adversary, ignoring Goku's hurt glare. "Being able to tell what your superiors and subordinates want or need to hear… Huge advantage, in my opinion."

"Is it?" The Colonel tapped his cigarette, suddenly very interested in the falling ashes. "Would you like Goku so much if you were dragged into the pit of his soul _daily_? The glimpses you sometimes have, yeah, all fine and dandy; but would you appreciate the entire journey down?" He turned to Hakkai and smiled toothily. "What about _him_? He is also very special to you, right? But he has considered sleeping with you as a way to have Gojyo. Not very flattering, is it, to be used like that by someone you learned to respect?"

Hakkai gasped, startled. "Sanzo, I—I would _never_—"

"You shut up, too," Sanzo muttered, not bothering to soothe Hakkai's uneasiness. With luck, there would be time to do that afterwards.

"Yes, time," the Colonel whispered, addressing Sanzo's half-formed thought directly. "That's the key, Sanzo-sama. Time. When I think of youkai advantages, I think of life spans that, in some cases, stretch to true immortality. How old is this 'boy' of yours? How long will Hakkai and Gojyo live if left on their own? I, on the other hand… I've inherited the power but not the body to match it. I'm only … human."

Sanzo considered the man's words—and his actions. The conclusion was as shocking as it was absurd. "Am I your bait for the gods, Colonel? Am I your bait, like Gojyo was mine? Are you expecting to wrench from them your sought-for epiphany through me?"

Silence.

"It doesn't work that way, you know," Sanzo murmured. "If I were to have any divine help, it would have been granted already. Don't expect dramatic pyrotechnics like talking—and listening—balls of fire."

"You mean the youkai riot is pure coincidence?" the Colonel remarked disbelievingly. "Neither you nor your demons would have reached the Anthill's grounds if my men weren't distracted by it."

Sanzo shrugged. "Indeed. But it may also be a coincidence. The youkai Madness is spreading all over Togenkyo. I was more surprised in finding this town unaffected than by the violence you have now."

"_Coincidence_, Sanzo-sama? You are more of a skeptic than I am."

"Better to be a skeptic than a zealot," Sanzo rebutted. "Less chance of being disappointed. Less chance of becoming a bitter idiot."

The Colonel threw his cigarette onto the floor and in an angry, sudden movement, gained his feet and stepped on it. "There's also a third option, Sanzo-sama," he hissed, all his flippancy gone. "One that will appease all the parties involved. Care to hear it?"

"Do tell, please," Sanzo ground out.

"I let you go," the Colonel said, a little too eagerly. "I let you all go. Oh, don't look at me like _that_! Why not? I've proven my point: I'm smarter than you. You may be the Chosen One, you may fight gods and demons, but you're no match for me. Besides… Gojyo can be very, very persuasive."

Sanzo remained impassive only by sheer willpower. "So it seems, Colonel."

"Take my word on it, since you don't have the balls to go for it yourself." And the Colonel kicked his stool back to a corner. It crashed against the wall with a loud, cracking bang, causing the horse to rear up and Goku to jump to his feet. "Okay, Sanzo, your friend Xie Dewei is expecting me. I'll let the officer in charge know that you have my permission to fetch Gojyo from my office. _You_, Sanzo, understood? These two stay away. I won't have my men commenting on how I allowed a pair of youkai the tourist tour."

Sanzo took a few steps forward. "I'm taking your word, Colonel," he said, replaying the scene in his head, frantically searching for the trap, "that we _all _are free to go."

"Why, Sanzo, that's what I've said. Here!"

Sanzo reached instinctively to catch the lighter tossed to him over Goku's head. "Do you want Xie Dewei's letter?" he asked. "It's—"

"Keep it. I don't care." Then, his eyes glittering, the Colonel offered a curt, barely polite bow and left.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Gojyo sat very still, staring at the food laid out in front of him without really seeing it. Part of his mind kept registering the unmistakable, luring presence of water, even over the smell of freshly baked bread and already cut oranges—two fingers of stale water in a pitcher to his right—and _that_ was enough to deny him retreat into his fever haze.

Slowly, carefully, he raised his head to look at the closed double doors. He should get up and go to them. They were not locked—at least, Gojyo did not think they were. There would be soldiers posted outside (_he_ had told him that before leaving), but humans should be no match for a trained youkai fighter. So, he must stand, and walk over to those doors, and then … then…

Gojyo scrunched his eyes shut and fought down nausea. Fuck, he should find an exit if only to get away from these smells!

_Are you comfortable, little demon? he _had asked with a smirk, and Gojyo was certain that _he_ had not even used his special 'abilities' to perceive that the mere suggestion of food, never mind its sight and aroma, was going to make his captive ill. _You should be; you're sitting at my desk and in my very favorite chair. I'm going to grant you your privacy, so you can take care of things on your own. No need to hurry things up, but you'd better not extend them too much, either. Understood? Good. Now have your breakfast. _

"Duh, just my luck," Gojyo whispered in the empty hall, gazing back at the doors—totally out of reach as far as his failing body was concerned. "Not being hungry for my last meal." Such a thought, all of a sudden, was irresistibly funny and he chuckled in long, sob-like spasms. The sound was amplified and thrown back at him, and then it was like the very walls were laughing. "Are you mocking me?" Gojyo slurred drunkenly, annoyed at the hysterical note he could detect. "Maybe I should scream in here. How would you like that, hmm?"

_Ah, but you've already done that, Gojyo, my pal, _his taunting inner voice whispered. _When you gave _him_ your name, you certainly did a helluva lot of screaming. Remember? _

He did.

Shuddering, he peered past the laden desk. The hall was fairly well lit and it was not difficult to find the dark stain that marked the spot where he had been held down and tortured.

_You know_, Hakkai's calm voice intruded, causing Gojyo to jerk his head up_, it's almost impossible to wash dried blood off_.

"Hakkai?" Gojyo whispered. "Are you there?"

_It's better not to strain your injury, Gojyo_, Hakkai remarked calmly and Gojyo cringed further into the dark jacket the Colonel had flung over his shoulders before leaving. _Not to mention getting your bandages wet. _

Gojyo let out a choked moan.

No. There was no Hakkai. He was just remembering his friend's words that afternoon at the riverbank. When Hakkai had had tried to wash blood out of Jien's torn shirt.

Jien, who was dead. Like Hakkai.

And like himself. After all, he was going to die _today_.

Gojyo stared down at the lit cigarette in his good hand, raising an eyebrow in incredulity. Gods, he had indeed been offered a last meal and a last cigarette—how trite could one's end turn out? And he could feel the weight of the gun his enemy had slipped into one of the jacket pockets.

_Pray to your uncaring gods, Gojyo,_ the Colonel had invited seductively, tracing Gojyo's hairline with the tip of his tongue. _Then, point my gun at the very source of your torment. Right here._" And _he _had planted a soft, wet kiss on Gojyo's temple. _Then pull the trigger. Just pull the trigger, little demon, and everything will be over. You won't feel pain or longing or thirst any longer. You'll be at peace. That is what you want, isn't it? To be at peace?_

Gojyo had nodded—was nodding again as he recalled the scene.

_Don't get any misguided ideas, he_ had continued in a colder tone, _such as to attack my men to go in a blaze of glory. Do you hear me, Gojyo? __No funny ideas. Because you'll be captured alive, no matter how many soldiers you manage to hurt or kill; you_ will _be brought to me _again, _very much alive. Then I will have the pleasure of taking you apart_. _Literally. Slowly._ _He_ had unbent then, brushing his erection against Gojyo's arm. _I would love to do that. _

"Leave me alone, motherfucker," Gojyo slurred, raising the cigarette to his lips. "You're not even here, so shut up." He spared another greedy glance at the water pitcher and, sighing, sank low in his seat. The jacket helped to fend off some of the chill brought by the fever—his teeth would be chattering if not for this impromptu shroud.

_Pray to your uncaring gods, Gojyo. _

He should, _ne_? Just in case.

Tiredly, he tipped his head upwards, puffed out a lungful of smoke and started drawing.

A circle.

And five straight lines radiating outward.

_My sun. _

The insubstantial figure hovered above his head for a split second before starting to rise, growing thin until vanishing completely into … sunlight?

Gojyo gasped, stupefied.

Sunlight filtered through multiple cracks in the high ceiling, invading this vault with pure, beautiful, perfect radiance.

"Sun has come!" he blurted out in awe. His foggy mind barely had time to assimilate such a miracle, when a new fact washed over him. He was not alone in the hall any more. Heart lurching, he stared at the double doors, now open. And held himself very, very still lest the vision disappear.

White robe and scriptures and glorious golden hair—halfway between the two iron braziers, right over last night's bloodstain, stood Sanzo in the sunlight. A god made a man; a man transubstantiated into light.

His Sun.

Until Gojyo dared to lock his eyes onto his, that is. Because Sanzo stared back at him with no warmth, no forgiveness.

Because Sanzo stared at him with hatred. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Expecting a trap at any moment, Sanzo had pushed open the double doors and stepped into the Colonel's office with extreme caution. A look at the center of the room, though, and his concentration was shattered by an overwhelming, distracting surge of relief.

Gojyo was indeed here. Alone.

Then, other details began to set in and Sanzo balled his fists. After dealing with this town's peculiar fauna—from Zhou Jun to the old major to Xie Dewei to the freakish Colonel—he had thought that there was no lower level to be reached in this pit. Yet, Gojyo proved him wrong: the kappa lounged at a generously set table … buried to his nose in one of those damned dark jackets.

Playing with his cigarette smoke.

Incredulous, Sanzo stared at him. Gojyo tensed and jerked his head in Sanzo's direction, opening and closing his mouth several times without emitting a sound—a reaction that would have been comical in other circumstances. Now, all Sanzo could do was suppress the urge to lunge at him and shake him until his teeth rattled. Shake him until his teeth fell out.

"Sanzo?" Gojyo spluttered, finally breaking the charged silence. "Is—is that you? I have… I was… Are you real? Are you _here_?"

"I suppose I am," Sanzo said coldly. "Unless you want to discuss philosophy and some of its more radical proposals?"

Gojyo furrowed his brows, not understanding the jibe—as Sanzo knew he would not. Subtle remarks always flew right over Gojyo's head without disturbing a single strand of his red hair. _His beautiful red hair_, Sanzo corrected, angry with himself for caring about such an inane thing, even when reasserting, for the umpteenth time, Gojyo's embarrassing lack of intellect. And why did he have to feel disappointed every time that happened? _Hakkai _was the one who could offer him a good verbal spar.

"Hakkai!" Gojyo said abruptly, and Sanzo started at having the name of the youkai he had shielded his mind with reverberating around the hall. "Sanzo, is Hakkai… Is he…"

"Yes!" Sanzo hissed when it became clear that Gojyo would not complete his question. _Of course_ Hakkai was also here; Hakkai had no common sense whatsoever where Gojyo was concerned. Sanzo tilted his chin up, trying to ignore his confused jealousy. So, Gojyo 'wanted' Hakkai? Too bad. He would have to content himself with Sanzo instead.

"I… I don't know what to say," Gojyo muttered, his voice breaking.

"Nothing new there, is it?" Sanzo retorted with wicked satisfaction.

"How... Were you—were you with him?"

"Yes." Sanzo raised one eyebrow at the sob-like whimper he got for an answer and studied the bottles on the table suspiciously. Fuck, was the cursed kappa already, or, most likely, _still_ drunk? Every time Gojyo prolonged his nightly indulgences he became overemotional.

"It should be me," Gojyo stammered. "It should…"

This sentence was not continued, either, and Sanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you finished?" he demanded, exasperated.

Gojyo stared stupidly at him.

"Your _breakfast_," Sanzo growled in a low, acid tone. "Far beit from me to hurry you up or anything, though; let's keep setting our pace at your convenience, why not? I've only been running around after you since the day before yesterday and I've only been waiting for you in this fucking place since last night. Of course I can wait until you finish your booze and your cigarette, why not?"

Gojyo widened his eyes and dropped his cigarette as if it had burned his fingers. "Last night?" he asked, sounding surprised. "You were _here_?"

"No, Gojyo." The name was spat like a foul word. "I was _there_. Right _there_."

"What?"

"The Colonel invited me to watch your performance together," Sanzo elaborated, allowing just the right inkling of sheer contempt to creep into his voice. "Not that I hadn't seen the same hentai show before," he added.

Gojyo widened his eyes. "You—you weren't there," he said slowly, shaking his head. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Sanzo remarked, too wrought out to deal with a drunken demon after everything he had already gone through. "You know, it doesn't matter. It's over anyway; I've had enough. This fucking mess took the prize. So, congratulations, Gojyo; you're off my team."

The announcement did not have the desired effect. Gojyo did not start babbling frantic promises of remission nor the tearful apologies that would have appeased Sanzo to a certain degree—and, perhaps, lead him to reconsider his decision. Gojyo merely stared.

"The door… The door was closed!" he insisted. "You—you didn't come! I called and I waited and you didn't come!"

"Unlike you, who did," Sanzo retorted, annoyed to no end at Gojyo's perplexed expression. Perhaps he should draw pictures so the dumb youkai could understand?

Then, Gojyo's choice of words sunk in.

'I called.'

'I waited.'

'You didn't come.'

What the fuck?

"You—you were _there_?" Shakily, groping around for balance, Gojyo gained his feet. "You saw what _he _did, and yet… _How could_ _you_?"

Sanzo glared at Gojyo. Should he not be the party demanding responses in this exchange? Though a creepy feeling began to make his stomach churn.

'I called.'

'I waited.'

'You didn't come.'

Behind him there was a hint of a ghostly laughter—low, derisive laughter that disappeared as soon as he touched the scriptures.

"You son of a bitch!" Gojyo stuttered, his face almost as red as his hair. "You _cruel, petty son of a fucking_ _bitch_!"

The yelled accusation hung in the air for a long while.

"You're angry at the wrong man," Sanzo said icily. "Not my fault that your lovers, like yourself, have an exhibitionist trait. Besides… Better to be the son than the fucking bitch, don't you agree?"

Gojyo let out a growl, fumbling awkwardly inside the dark jacket he had on his shoulders. Sanzo watched his uncoordinated movements with disdain before tilting his head upwards to pop his stiff neck. Gods, what were they still doing here, exchanging insults like two schoolboys? True, Gojyo always brought forth his worst and his darkest, but what could justify such a ridiculous scene? He had to assemble his youkai and leave—leave as fast as they could. Whatever there was to be discussed with his demons—even with this demon in particular—could very well wait. "Listen, I…" he started, then trailed off. Gojyo had found what he had been looking for in the jacket, now discarded on the floor. And his arm… His left arm… Stunned by the sight, it took Sanzo a while to register the item that the kappa had in his good hand.

A gun.

Trained on him.

Gojyo bared his teeth in a monkey-like rictus. "You know, _he_ told me to point this gun at the source of my problems. Well, guess what, Sanzo? That's you! You _are_ the source of my problems!"

Sanzo clicked his tongue, unimpressed. "Your lover gave you a gun and told you to kill me?"

"_He isn't my lover!_" Gojyo roared. "_Don't say he is my lover!_"

"Answer my question, youkai!"

Gojyo snorted. "Kill _you_? Ah, I see. The universe revolves around your navel, so, of course, this is about you!"

His eyes drifting to that mangled arm, Sanzo refrained from commenting further. Unfortunately, the evidence indicated that 'this' was indeed about himself, regardless of Gojyo's outraged hysteria. The Colonel's unexpected retreat made sense now—the man had clearly manipulated all the elements to force a confrontation. Perhaps having one of the gods' chosen ones killing the gods' Chosen One would prove to him that he had incontestably 'won' the game he had been playing. Perhaps he believed that his staged little drama would attract the gods' attention to this place and to himself.

Perhaps 'this' was some kind of sick joke.

"Why, Sanzo?" Gojyo whined, wiping his sweaty face on the back of his right hand—the hand that held the gun. The left one hung by his side, useless, very swollen. Sanzo cringed slightly in sympathy; the pain must be agonizing. "Why do you have to be such a heartless dick?"

"Gojyo—"

"Now you call me by my name? _Now_?" Gojyo wobbled, almost dropping the weapon. "Do I have to point a gun at you to be treated with respect? You _fucker_!"

Enough was enough. Taking advantage of Gojyo's erratic state, Sanzo drew his own gun. "All right. Put that thing down."

Gojyo laughed convulsively, unconcerned.

"I won't tell you again, Gojyo." Sanzo tightened the grip on his gun handle. "Put that fucking thing down."

"No," Gojyo drawled defiantly. "Do you hear me? The answer is _No_. It's _No_, Sanzo. _No, no, no, no, no—_" And Gojyo raised his voice childishly until the entire hall screamed his denial along with him.

Sanzo cursed under his breath, caressing the trigger. He did not want to alert the soldiers outside about his being armed, but if Gojyo did not shut up… Buddha, if the stupid kappa did not shut up… Sanzo aimed right at Gojyo's mouth and, despite exhaustion, there was an interested stirring between his legs.

Gojyo's mouth.

Those white, even teeth. Those lush lips—_hurt_ lush lips… Sanzo was paradoxically so focused on them and so distracted by them that it took him a while to note that they were no longer moving. "I don't feel like dragging your carcass downhill," he said, breaking the silence that once more vibrated in the hall. "But I _will _shoot you if I have to."

"You won't shoot _me_ so _you _won't have any trouble?" came the slurred reply. "Okay!"

"Gojyo, this is neither the place nor the time to be difficult. Fuck, man, think! I can't—"

"Neither can I, Sanzo." The title-turned-into-name was spoken softly, a mixture of helplessness and grief. "I can't think anymore."

Sanzo bit back the answer that such a statement deserved—anger and sarcasm might be easier to brandish but definitely would not break this impasse. Gojyo was too drunk or too ill, or both, to react as he usually did. Taking a deep breath, Sanzo decided for a much more difficult course of action: to reach out. He had to reach out and pull Gojyo from whatever abyss the Colonel had pushed him into.

It would be impossible to do so with a gun in his hands.

"Why did you have to come here?" Gojyo rasped miserably. "I was ready to go—to go to Hakkai. I _wanted _to go to Hakkai—"

Already sorting out what he would allow himself to say, Sanzo angled his gun to stash it back under his breastplate. The sudden explosion was deafening. He locked his eyes with Gojyo's, who was frozen in shock. Then, pain registered.

Awful, unbearable pain. Pressing his chest. Constraining his breathing.

Gojyo seemed to grow bigger, but somehow Sanzo managed not to break eye contact. He was on his knees now, though he did not remember going down.

"Sanzo?"

The sunlight that filtered through the ceiling dazzled his eyes, and Sanzo blinked to clear his blurring vision. Was he crying? Why was he crying? He squinted down. There was light, there was salty water, there was … blood. He was bleeding.

Gojyo had shot him.

The son of a bitch.

"I'm sorry," Gojyo blabbered away, frantic. "Sanzo, I—"

_…called… _

"I can't—I can't think straight, Sanzo. I—"

_…waited… _

"—thought you were going to shoot me. Please, Sanzo, you—"

_…didn't come. _

"—okay? Sanzo? You—"

"—didn't have the right to commit any more mistakes," Sanzo finished for him, or tried to. The cacophony of enraged male voices and stomping boots should be louder than that. And the spectral murmur that leaked from the very core of this building should be lower. Weightless, he floated between two worlds as Gojyo stared back at him from his side of the margin.

Sanzo knew he had to go to him. The soldiers would be closing in on them by now, those dangerous youkai-hating soldiers—and what was the punishment for a demon who attacked a priest in this town?—so he had to stand and go to Gojyo and protect his teammate.

The rest was … unimportant.

But as every sound dimmed into crushing silence, as every image except for Gojyo's faded away in a frozen, timeless Nothing, Sanzo could only look into sad red eyes. They were thus connected when Gojyo raised the gun he still held and inserted it into his own mouth. Sanzo wanted to scream, wanted to jump at him and pry the weapon from his hand, but his body seemed made of lead. In impotent horror, he merely watched when Gojyo, tears streaming down, closed his eyes, and so cutting their link, pulled the trigger.

**End of Part II**


End file.
